Experiment 2753
by nardy
Summary: Sherlock wants to experiment. John doesn't agree. Lestrade is there. Sherlock/Lestrade turning into John/Lestrade and maybe Sherlock/John/Lestrade In ACD Canon, Lestrade is only known as G lestrade, Gabriel is my choice and Greg is Mark Gatiss's. Thank
1. Experiment 2753

**Disclaimer**: Not mine by any stretch of the imagination... Sadly

**Rating:** PG maybe R overall

**Pairing:** Sherlock/Lestrade ; Watson/ Lestrade; maybe Sherlock/Watson/Lestrade

**Lengh: 1239 words**

* * *

_**Experiment # 2753**_

-"NO!" The almost shouted word lingered in the air, echoing the loud bang of the downstairs door.

-"No what?" asked Sherlock without concern, still plucking the strings of his violin.

-"No you won't" John ground out between his teeth. "You won't use him as one of your experiments!"

Sherlock didn't answer, raising his eyebrows slightly.

-"I won't ?"

-"NO!" shouted John, jumping from his seat, crossing the space between them. He stopped a mere inch from Sherlock, bracing himself on the arms of the chair. Leaning over him.

-"NO. . won't use Lestrade as experiment 2753 or whatever, named'How to seduce and abuse a straight man in five easy steps'," said John slowly.

Sherlock was not disturbed by his sudden outburst, but raised his eyes to him, locking their gaze.

-"More number 7865, but irrelevant now. What did you say? Straight. Are you sure about this John?" he said, a small smile on his lips.

-"Oh! God! Bastard!"

-"You've already said that, dear Doctor."

-"That's the only word that fits you, now" growled John, stepping back.

-"Why do you care?" asked Sherlock in "great detective "mode, cold stare and all ."No. No. Don't tell me... You care about our dear detective because you like him. No. You fancy him. Don't you John?

-"Me?" John was taken aback by the turn of the conversation. "NO! I don't fancy him! Stupid brat! I just don't like, you experimenting within the small circle of your friends... Our friends in fact" John amends.

-"Jealous. You are jealous. Aren't you? Are you jealous of my interest towards him. Or rather because of my lack of interest in you, Dear Doctor?" asked Sherlock coldly.

-"A wall. A stupid brick wall. I can't speak to a stupid brick wall Sherlock!" shouted John, throwing his hands in the air.

-"So. Jealous then". stated the detective with a smug smile.

* * *

Without another word but with a desperate sigh, John slid a shaking hand through his hair, muttering under his breath while putting his jacket on. He took his phone and began typing a text, stomping down the stairs in the vain hope of drowning out the noise of martyred violin strings.

_FR: John Watson_

_To DI Lestrade_

_Need to talk with you. Now._

_JW_

The answer came a second later.

_FR: Gabriel Lestrade_

_To : Doc_

_Speedy's._

_Gabe_

John stopped short, surprised to see the Detective in the snack bar next door. To be frank, John had never set foot there during the few months he had lived in 221B.

And Gabriel was here, with a beer and a sandwich. In the back of the room. A secluded booth. Discreet enough if Sherlock comes down.

The Detective glanced at John and waved him to the seat opposite him.

"Hey, Gabriel..."

"John? What's the matter?"

"Hum... You're a regular here?"

"Food is good. And it's easier to grab something here. With Sherlock, I never know if I'll have the chance to eat."

John took a second to look around him. The place was pleasant. Intimate. And if the DI said the food was good...

"John? Doc? Got something to tell me?" asked Lestrade with a tiny smile.

"Gabriel... I... I ... I don't know, how to say that in fact." muttered John, avoiding his friend's gaze.

Lestrade finished his drink slowly, giving him a bit more time. And if John was a loss for words, the situation must be pretty bad.

"Don't. Please. Don't let him," said the Doctor in a low voice, a bit of color creeping into his cheeks.

"Hum..." began Lestrade cautiously, "I don't really understand what you want to say. It's about Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"I'm a big boy John. You know that?" he said slowly. "He won't harm me."

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Tell me you won't let him... Do...Whatever he wants to do to you. Or with you" murmured John sadly.

"There's nothing to be done. He's made his mind up. I'll be the next experiment in Sherlock's life. I know that," answered Lestrade in a low voice. His eyes were fixed on the remains of his sandwich, not very keen to meet his friend's gaze. "Experiment is fine. If I can be part of his life for a while. Being the object of his interest. Could be nice for once."

"Gabriel... you deserve so much more than that. Don't let him. Please", said John again.

"You know, I've known him for five years now. Three years ago my wife left me. She was "fed up" she said, with my relationship with Sherlock. Always here for him, during his bad drug episode, always here when he called, always answering his texts, always following his lead when we were on a case together."

"Your wife?"

"Technically she still is my wife, we never got divorced ", said Lestrade. "But she was absolutely sure I was having an affair with Sherlock. I wasn't back then. And I'm not now. But if he is on..."

John raised an eyebrow, confusion evident on his face.

He had realized a long time ago, that Lestrade was attracted to Sherlock, but he never thought Lestrade would want to act on it. After all, his wedding ring told another tale. Clever indeed.

"Gab..."

"Why do you care John?" asked Lestrade suddenly.

"I... I don't want to see you hurt. Harmed by a careless Sherlock. A selfish genius. I kind of like you Gabriel. You are a good friend". finished John lamely.

Gabriel smiled a bit. His boyish grin. Lestrade trademak.

"Will you be there?" he asked quietly.

John waited for a second before nodding slowly.

"Will you be there for me. To pick up the pieces in the end?" asked Lestrade again, getting up from his seat.

"I will be there. Always,"answered John in a voice so low it was almost inaudible.

"Good."

The door pinged lightly when the Detective left.

John stayed a few minutes more. Trying to understand what would happen next.

Clearly, Sherlock had underestimated Lestrade, and maybe...

Maybe the game would not be so unfair.

End of Part I

* * *

Hugs to you all

San


	2. John

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing and especially not those awesome characters. ACD and BBC owns them and the copyrights.

**Rating**: Will be R overall. I think.

**Pairing **: Sherlock/Lestrade; Lestrade/John; and maybe Sherlock/John/Lestrade

**lengh**: 1649 words

Betaed by Cha and Fengirl88 : guys you did an amazing job.

* * *

**_Experiment # 2753_**

Watson came back to the flat, and stood stiffly in front of his insufferable flatmate.

"Mm?" said Sherlock without acknowledging him, eyes still fixed on his violin.

"I need to apologize", John said with the coldest voice he could muster. "Whatever your intentions are towards Lestrade, I had no right to insult you."

Sherlock dismissed him with a flick of his hand.

"Already forgotten Doctor. No worries."

That went well. Sort of.

A few weeks came and passed, but John was still confused. He was angry with himself for his outburst with Holmes. He was disappointed to have given up instead of standing up for his opinion. The World's Greatest Detective didn't hold any grudge against him, having probably decided it was not an important matter.

Not important in his whole experiment.

Experiment.

The word was hurting . Stinging a little bit every time. A rebellion in his mind. A rebellion against Sherlock.

He tried to bury this feeling deep down. Didn't want it to burst out unexpectedly.

He just thought about it at night, lying in his bed, in the dark, thinking over every little thing he hadn't seen at the time.

The second he had realized, that day precisely, after months of blessed ignorance, when his eyes, finally, saw.

Stupidly he had a fleeting thought of Sherlock, he would have been proud of him, he was so sarcastic when he was talking about John's brain and his blindness:

_"Look. You look and you don't see! How do you do that?" asked Sherlock every time furrowing his brows. Which was the cue for the regular "What do you have in your brains, it must be so dull, you're so vacant..."_

_The guy was elegant in his insults, and while talking to John, he was including him in a sort of circle with Lestrade, and unfortunately Donovan and Anderson too... You can't have it all, can you?_

Everything had begun during the Great Game with Moriarty. They were following a lead, and Sherlock took them with him in a taxi to go back to Baker Street. Breaking his usual pattern he had indicated that John should take the extra seat and shared the large one with Lestrade.

The move had been subtle. He had pressed his knee against Lestrade's slightly. A mere second. And then had gathered his long legs, a few inches away. Almost touching.

An accidental touch, to any other observer.

Gabriel hadn't seem to mind and John had stopped thinking about it.

Sherlock was buzzing with adrenaline during his game with Moriarty, he was so excited. Like in a sexual trance.

He was following lead after lead, clearing the case before the deadline every time. It was exhilarating. Always a step ahead of Moriarty, allowing him time to think over other things.

And Lestrade was there.

In every single moment of this game. He practically moved into Baker Street, spending a great amount of time trying to help Sherlock with the mess of data pinned on the wall in the flat's main room.

Surprisingly, Lestrade's presence had a soothing effect on Sherlock instead of throwing him into one of his dark moods, his unfair tantrums against the police in general, Lestrade in particular and Anderson as an easy target. Sally too.

They had spent hours trying to figure something out with those notes. The case was going well in the end, after the help provided by the guy in the Government Office. Mrs Hudson had helped, brewing tea, giving them biscuits and sandwiches to eat, not once saying she was the landlady and not their housekeeper.

John saw them together for the first time, since his investigation with Connie Prince's brother, in Lestrade's office. When Sherlock sent his message to Moriarty. When the bomb had exploded.

The end of the game had been frantic, very emotional and full of unfair things.

Mycroft with his nagging insistence had been a blessing at the time. Forcing John away from the flat, away from Sherlock too.

John could pinpoint the details with a clear mind now.

The way Sherlock gave his approval to Gabriel with a discreet nod, when he was interviewing Miss Wenceslas. John had seen it, but as always, hadn't registered the fact.

Sherlock's attitude, his way of occupying Lestrade's office, his desk. Playing with the tartan scarf. Eyes unfocused, his mind on obscure leads.

Lestrade's sudden irruption at the pool, providing the distraction that had saved their lives. Both of their lives.

Moriarty had fled.

Later, Gabriel had crouched down near John, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right Doc?" he had asked John, his eyes searching his.

"Yes...Yes...I think so..." Watson had answered shakily

Obviously, nearly dying twice in less than five minutes, makes your body shake pretty badly. He would know that next time.

He had seen Sherlock gaze at them. An intense concentration on his face. Gabe stiffened a bit , he closed his eyes a second, squared his jaw and rose. He faced Holmes, looking him up and down.

"You seem all right. Not in shock this time?" said Lestrade in a mocking tone.

"No. No photograph for your team this time" answered Sherlock with humour, tension flying away in an instant.

"Could I give his gun back to Doctor Watson, Holmes?"

"Yes. Of course. Detective..."

Sherlock had put the gun delicately in Lestrade's outstretched hand. Brushing the open palm slightly.

John had turned his head and had contemplated the respective merits of standing versus throwing up. Standing had won and he had got up slowly. Sherlock was there in an instant, his arm around his friend. Supporting his weight.

Gabriel drove them back to Baker Street. Sherlock had accepted only because it was the Detective's private car.

"It was risky Sherlock. And incredibly stupid. For the greatest genius alive, sometime you are stupider than a schoolboy",muttered Lestrade under his breath, while driving.

"I texted you."

"Nevertheless. It was a big risk. If this psychopath had exploded John's bomb, you wouldn't be here any more."

"Neither would you. There was a lot of Semtex", said John, in Sherlock's defense, again excusing his flatmate's stupid moves.

"Never mind that, it's my job. You, both of you, are civilians, and there is nothing else to say: it was stupid". Lestrade had insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stretched his arm, giving a flick to Gabriel's head.

"Oi... Stop that, Holmes. You want to be in one piece when you arrive at home?"

"Stop your nonsense then, and you'll be able to keep your attention on the road. I am a consulting detective, and John is a military doctor, danger and violence is part of our job too", stated Sherlock quietly.

"Right..."

The end of the trip was silent and uneventful, Gabriel opened the car door and held it open for them. Sherlock stepped out, and grabbed John's hand to help him.

From the corner of his eye, John had seen, without acknowledging it, again, Sherlock's fingers on Lestrade's hand on the door.

The Detective came with them upstairs, busying himself in the kitchen, fixing them a cup of tea. Or rather, putting the kettle on.

He had explored a bit, and had come back from Sherlock's room with a blanket, had given it to the detective who had wrapped it round his friend. The poor doctor had been touched by his interest.

"A blanket is not necessary Sherlock", John had protested with a smile, "I'm not in shock!"

Lestrade had answered first.

"Right Doctor, so explain to me why you are still shaking? Take a cup of tea, drown it with anything you may like and then go to bed. Rest for a while... Please... I have to go..."

Lestrade had waited a few seconds, trying to meet Sherlock's gaze. He had given up, nodded briskly and fled.

Since those dramatic events, John and Sherlock had continued their investigations, John supervising the financial aspect of their "job". Unfortunately, Sherlock was more interested in strange cases than lucrative ones.

Occasionally, Mycroft asked for their help. Jobs always well paid. Cases always interesting, Mycroft knowing his brother's mind.

Sometimes it was Lestrade.

Sherlock hadn't texted the Di, it was always him who texted or emailed. Asking for help.

But he never called.

Sherlock cracked his cases in a few hours almost every time.

The friendship between Sherlock and Lestrade still there, but with a bit of stiffness.

Bitter.

End of part 2

* * *

Thank you for being here, if you are still reading.

San


	3. Gabriel

**Experiment # 2753 part 3**

**Disclaimer**: Still not mine, neither the characters nor the background, but the XXIst century is part of our lives so...

**Warning **: Maybe Ooc, nothing else. H/C

**Rating: R**

* * *

_**Gabriel**_

Lestrade closed the door of his flat, leaning against it for a few seconds, closing his eyes. The day's tension leaving his body slowly.

He slid a hand through his hair, messing the short crop slightly.

He gave a tired sigh.

Lestrade straightened up and left the door, alone, taking his loneliness into the living room.

He took his coat off, draping it on one of the dining chairs, his jacket followed, occupying another chair, joined by the shoes under that same chair.

The same ritual for three years now. He began this when Celia left, rebelling against something, trying to prove a point. He doesn't remember exactly what it was. But, as he was celibate again, he was allowed to do everything. Every single thing he wanted. Even stupid ones.

She required him to hang his coat in the hall closet, same thing for the suit jackets, depending on how many times he had worn them, closet again, or the chair in the bedroom, a pile for the dry-cleaner's. Celia kept track of the dry-cleaning , and sometimes Gabriel had regrets, he was not very keen on regular trip to the dry-cleaner himself and more than once he had faced an almost empty closet, with an odd combination of suits. His last resort was to set an alarm on his mobile phone, and pray to actually have enough time to collect the suits.

Lestrade undid his sleeves and rolled them up, as always, he felt a tiny satisfaction about the no-tie policy. He just hated the whole thing, ties and hanging equated in his mind.

Those thoughts flashed through his mind whilst he was checking his fridge. More food than usual, less gone off, a stockpile of plastic boxes, definitely a Joy day today.

Joy and her husband Robert had come probably, Bobby doing the chores and Joy the cooking and tidying the kitchen. The elderly couple lived nearby. Gabriel had had to give them a key of the flat after Celia's departure. He was frequently absent, sometime investigations kept him away for days, never knowing when he would come back.

Their first foray into his flat was due to water damage, someone had had to come and check for a leak. Gabe was very busy on a nasty investigation with Sherlock (as always, Sherlock!) Robert came to the Yard to collect the key and after his departure Lestrade had remembered the lamentable state of the flat.

Messy and dirty kitchen, soiled plates and cutlery everywhere, full garbage bin, not to mention the main room, with the beer bottles, pizza and take-away boxes. Last but not least, his own room, unmade bed, dirty clothes scattering the floor... Bathroom. Better not to think about still remembers with great shame his slacker days after the break-up, when he had pushed the boundaries of his freedom a bit too far...

The shock came a few days later, with the case wrapped up, Sherlock gone, and himself allowed to come back home.

To a very clean and spotless flat. Citrus scent floating in the air. He had felt bad. And was very embarrassed. Not knowing how to thank the old lady. He had sent her flowers. With his name on a blank card, and a copy of his key.

The following week, the same thing had happened again. Even if in between, he had caught himself, cleaning and putting away after him, following Celia's ways.

But Joy came back. And she continued to come week after week, with her husband.

They came to take care of him.

Lestrade had tried to pay them. The first weeks, the envelopes with the money stayed on the table. After a total of six or seven envelopes piling up, he had surrendered. And found a compromise; he labelled the envelope with " food shopping" and Joy had taken it, at last.

One day, Lestrade had cornered Bobby and asked him the reasons for their help.

The elder man had shaken his head, explaining Joy's loneliness, she didn't work anymore, they had retired a few years ago, and she was bored.

Their children had become adults, with families of their own, far away from London. And she was fond of him; during Celia's times, they had crossed paths several times, and Gabe, without meaning to, had seduced the old lady.

Maybe it was the uniform that did it after all. Or a schoolgirl crush. Lestrade was not sure which explanation was the right one.

So. Thursdays became Joy days, and Gabriel was thanking God those days.

Anyway, except the fond memories trigged by the spotless flat and the well stocked fridge, Gabriel didn't want anything.

Nothing appealed. In fact he was not hungry. Hadn't been for a few days.

With a frown, he closed the fridge.

Few weeks was more accurate.

Five weeks.

More or less.

37 days precisely, not that he was counting at all...

He had not been hungry from the moment Sherlock had taken an interest in him. Had decide either to seduce him or to drive him mad.

He had collected all the touches, all the brushing against him, all the glances Sherlock gave him.

He had become as stupid as a school-boy with a crush on the bad-boy of the class, and wondered how he managed to not blush every time Sherlock gave him one of those looks.

The "I want-to-undress-you-and-eat-you-right-now" ones...

With a desperate sigh, Gabriel sat on the sofa, turned the telly on, for background noise and made himself comfortable, always his favourite posture, in the corner of the sofa, one leg crossed at the ankle on the other knee, head on the backrest.

He closed his eyes and thought back to John Watson. The doctor had been slow to realise Sherlock's attitude and had come to warn him a few days earlier. (11 days precisely)

The thought irritated him for a moment; Sherlock might have decided that the police were incompetent, but Lestrade himself wasn't stupid. He was a cop long before Sherlock, and did not need him in his investigations, thank you very much...

He, on the contrary had realised the very first time. The first time Sherlock had touched him.

Sherlock was not the touching kind, Gabriel was aware of the fact, after all, he known him for years.

So, in the taxi, when he had pressed his knee against his, Gabe had known something was happening within his friend's genius brain. He was divided between wanting to slap him on the head and wanting to see where this was going to go.

But as he confessed to John, being the object of Sherlock's attention was addictive.

On the other hand, he had realised another thing.

Holmes's experiment was not directed solely towards him, he was only one of the component parts.

John was the other one.

He wondered if Sherlock himself had realised the real extent of his experiment. And if this experiment ( Oh god, the word began to hurt) might succeed. If it was the case, the loser would be the dear DI, again.

But for the time being, he was addicted.

He dived into his pool of memories about the Great Sherlock, with his blue dressing gown, barefoot, lying down on the sofa, steepled fingers, thinking... Sherlock, running after a suspect, jumping from roof to roof. Sherlock in Lestrade's office at the Yard, sending a message to a psychopathic killer. Sherlock, finally, glaring at him, every time Gabriel spoke privately with John.

Sherlock, in the dark alley, stopping abruptly and facing him. Lestrade had stopped short within an inch of him. So surprised.

Nobody was there with them, Donovan and Anderson on the crime scene two streets away, John had not arrived yet.

Gabriel had searched Sherlock's eyes, and lost himself in the grey irises. The way Holmes had looked at him, made him blush this time. And then the detective had moved, so subtlety, hardly moving at all. Gabriel didn't remember accurately, and he had had the feeling of lips on his own. The kiss had lasted only a few seconds, a peck more than a proper kiss, and then Sherlock had turned his back and had disappeared in the dark, leaving Gabriel confused, his heart beating like crazy.

No more doubts. The move had been clear. Too short. But so real.

Gabriel came back to the crime scene later, finishing his job, supervising the whole thing, as usual. He had locked what had just happened away in the "Sherlock" compartment in his mind, and carried on. Bagging and labelling items of evidence, and coming back to the Yard, stalling a bit, writing up an unnecessary file, spending time there rather than alone at home. Alone again.

He had known that Sherlock would not be in touch again that night.

The remembrance of this tiny kiss was overwhelming. This move was not part of the experiment. Lestrade was sure about this.

Almost sure.

Unconsciously, he drew a finger along his lips. A tingling feeling still here. The brief press of this mouth against his.

An uncanny feeling, a feeling he hadn't enjoyed for three years now.

His heart, the traitor, was doing unhealthy things, stopping, going faster, jumping, beating wildly...

At this rate he will have to check into Bart's soon. In the mortuary, that was.

Sherlock would be the death of him. Or rather this fleeting kiss would be.

What would it be like with a proper one?

Lestrade was not sure, but the feeling in this stomach, like butterflies, was pleasant. Very very pleasant.

* * *

Less pleasant than that other time though, when he had understood that he was doomed.

It was like a wave, overwhelming. A tornado.

They were in the Yard's car park. Sherlock had explained the case, in a matter of seconds, and had rushed away , with John in tow.

And then Sherlock's growl had reverberated through the car park, in Lestrade's stomach, in his body.

"I'm on FIRE!"

Lestrade had been rooted to the spot. Knocked out. Breathless. Unable to move, much less to think.

He had struggled to regain his control over his body, but it had been pointless. He had had to button up his coat, no way he was going back to his office in this state. Hard. In less than two seconds flat. First time in a very, very, very long time.

...

* * *

Fond memories or not, he was a bit sad. The day had been long, and he was tired. His body aching. His loneliness more oppressive than usual. His head was so heavy...

He was asleep in a matter of seconds.

He didn't hear the lock being picked, and certainly didn't see Sherlock, standing in front of him, studying him with a frown.

The tall man was lost He stretched his arm, brushing his fingers slightly against Gabriel's. His hand going south, touching the leather belt slightly. Counting the tiny holes.

And withdrawing with another frown. A deeper one. Concerned maybe.

Sherlock was confused.

He didn't understand why he was there, why he had kissed Lestrade earlier today. Without a witness. Without John around. Just them.

Why he had had this impulse to kiss the grey haired detective.

Why he was troubled when his men were talking to each other. At ease with each other.

His men... Where did that come from? John and Gabriel were not his. No. Maybe. Were they?

They were his, definitely.

And Sherlock had a striking revelation. He was going to suffer. More than he had expected at first.

He had a heart, less functional than the others' maybe, but it was not only the engine of his body.

He was connected to feelings. To heartbreak. Metaphorically.

Gabriel didn't hear the quiet click of the lock, but was surprised when he woke up to find a blanket over him and the telly switched off.

By instinct, he knew it was Sherlock. And grinned childishly.

Good.

So, he came.

Maybe Lestrade had a chance after all.

* * *

A thousand thanks for my lovely Fengirl88 for her awesome job. Luv you Babe.

*hugs*

San


	4. Sherlock

**Disclaimer **: I own nothing. I just play with them.

**Rating :** Toward R finally.

**Pairing:** Sherlock Lestrade/Watson

Beated by the sweet Fengirl88, thanks hun.

* * *

**_Sherlock_**

Sherlock was confused. He came back to Baker Street slowly, not in a hurry to face John. The opposite in fact, he was hoping his friend would be already in his room, almost hoping (and that really was stupid ) he was out with Sarah.

But when he arrived home, he still had no clue about why he had done what he did.

Kissing Lestrade had been nice. Too short but nice. He knew it was a stupid idea, but hadn't been able to control the impulse. The man was attractive after all. But his carefully laid plan was backfiring on him quite spectacularly.

He had never intended to fall under the grey-haired man's spell.

It had only been because of Moriarty, for fun, to burn off the almost sexual energy, back then.

At first.

But it had stopped being funny by quite some way a long time ago.

When Gabriel had not reacted to his touches. Had not acknowledged him or his flirtation.

Had been immune to his advances.

Sort of.

Except for Gabriel's hitched breath, or his pupils dilating, the furtive glances. But nothing else. Sherlock knew Lestrade was interested.

No way Sherlock could have misunderstood the signs.

In Baker Street, John was in his favourite chair in front of the telly, with his laptop, updating his blog probably. Another of their investigations going public, with the necessary editing of course. No known name or address in... yada yada.

John raised his head a second and gave Sherlock a smile then returned to his laptop. A tight smile.

Holmes was still confused. Did John suspect something? About the kiss. The peck. The... thing between him and Lestrade.

No way. Sherlock was a master in the fine art of concealing his feelings and emotions. A master in lying.

And John could not know.

No.

Except maybe.

If...

"Where have you been?" asked the Doctor, quietly. "You're very late. Aren't you?"

Sherlock tried to buy a bit of time, hanging his coat and scarf carefully on the back of the door.

"I...I was following a lead for a case. Not a good one I'm afraid. Waste of time...", answered Sherlock finally.

He went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards, looking for some experiment, busying himself in the room, not so eager to face John for the time being.

Without another word, Watson closed his laptop, rose from his chair and left the room.

He was clearly pissed off at something and when he banged his door, Sherlock received the message loud and clear.

The detective had the grace to slightly blush. It was the first time, outside a case, the first time he had lied to John. An outright lie.

He couldn't tell him. Couldn't tell him he had been to Lestrade's flat. It was so wrong.

But hurting John was hurting himself in the process and even if the feeling was new, it wasn't pleasant, it was really hard in fact.

The Great Sherlock had a hard time getting to sleep that night.

* * *

Oddly, it was the silence in the flat which woke him up.

No noise.

Not the usual ones when John was getting ready to go to the hospital. Nothing. Sherlock glanced at his watch to make sure.

Right.

Wrong.

Something was not right.

He went to the kitchen, no sign of his Doctor, cold kettle, no mug on the draining board. Same thing in the living area.

Sherlock hesitated slightly but within a second found ten good excuses to take the stairs to his friend's room.

But his genuine concern beat them all.

He knocked lightly. No answer. That was to be expected. John was pissed off last night, and probably still was this morning.

He opened the door. Right.

The room was spotless, as usual. The bed was made. Those few possessions were neatly stored. On the small desk, there was John's laptop. Closed.

Sherlock sat down and opened the computer, turning it on. John had ceased to put passwords on his laptop, since Sherlock habitually cracked them each and every time he was bored. Or every time he needed this computer for any odd reason.

Sherlock went to the blog first, nothing new. No new case posted. Nothing.

No history in the browser. Nothing to let him know what John had been doing last night.

At last he opened the mail box. Nothing in the inbox. He checked the sent mail box.

And felt his heart sink. There were messages. Addressed to Gabriel. A dozen e-mails.

Sherlock opened the last one.

_From: John Watson_

_To : Gabriel_

_Tonight. Our usual spot._

_John _

The feeling Sherlock was experiencing was unknown, but very unpleasant at the same time. The instant loss of his heart in the general direction of his feet.

His hand was shaking slightly, but he opened the other e-mails.

Always the same. A rendez-vous. Or a thank you of sorts. One of them was worse than the others, it was from a week or so ago.

_From : John Watson_

_To: Gabriel_

_Sherlock is not here tonight, come to 221B_ _I'll do pasta, if you are not afraid of my cooking. (Or the state of my kitchen, I promise to put away any strange experiments or decomposing body parts if you want ;) )_

_John_

An answer was attached to this one.`

_From Gabriel_

_To John Watson_

_Not afraid of your kitchen, or your cooking skills. I'll be delighted to eat a real cooked meal for once. _

_What do you want to drink?_

_Gabe_

Another answer following the first

_From John Watson_

_To: Gabriel_

_My cooking skills and I are honoured..._

_Whatever red wine you want._

_John._

This had been a date.

In Sherlock's mind it was anyway.

The part that hurt was "Sherlock is not here". John was having a rendez-vous with Lestrade when he was away.

So they had reached the next step, and slept together? Shagged each other... He blushed at the crude thought.

No. John and Gabriel were not having an affair under his nose. It was not possible, yet that could have explained a lot of things. Lestrade's restraint, for one. He was the faithful type in Sherlock 's mind and if he was committed to John... No.

He would have punched Sherlock in the face after the kiss. ( Peck... thing...)

And John... John was not interested in men. He had told Sherlock, more or less, at Angelo's the day after they met. Not interested in men _yet. _

And this whole experiment was just that. His stupid game was set up to see if John would be _adaptable.._.

John and his honest face.

John and his instant loyalty.

John who had killed for him on this very first day too.

John and his incredible sweetness, his empathy oozing from him like a spell.

John.

The man was a curse himself. Everyone loved him. The first time you met him, he crawled under your skin, so easily. At first sight, or almost. He had everybody eating out of his hand.

From Mycroft (Mycroft bloody hell!) _(Keep this one Little Brother, he will probably be the only friend you will ever have) _

To Sally Donovan ( He overheard her) _ ( Hey Doctor, find yourself a hobby, golf, or fishing maybe, but stay away from this freak. Stop spending so much time with this psychopath. You deserve more than that.) _

With Lestrade in between, obviously._ ( Hey John, could I offer you a beer? God know you deserve it . I've known Sherlock for years and I know how is it to deal with him. Congratulations.)_

Sherlock closed the mail service carefully, cleared the browser and closed the laptop.

He went down to his bedroom, trying to analyse the situation calmly.

John and Gabriel were seeing each other.

Nothing in the e-mails or in the men's attitude revealed the truth about their relationship. _Was_ it a relationship between them?

But the facts were the facts. They were friends. And suddenly it was unbearable.

It was unpleasant.

That's why he didn't want to have his mind preyed on by feelings or emotions.

It was painful, it ate your brain and it made you carry out stupid experiments.

Seducing Lestrade to make John jealous. For a brilliant plan it was a perfectly brilliant plan.

Any clue?

John was still not interested in him; worse, he seemed to have found Gabriel very edible, maner of speaking.

And he himself, the great Sherlock, married to his job. He begun to wonder if he said this only because his job was already two parts Lestrade.

This man was trouble on legs.

How could Sherlock have spent five years so close to him without seeing him? Objectively, he had ruined his life. Sherlock had probably been an important factor in Lestrade's separation with his wife. And now, he took quietly what Sherlock threw him, without missing a beat.

Sherlock wanted to see Lestrade stand against him. Wanted to see him interfere in the seduction dance he had set up.

The thought made him growl, he tugged his hair, digging his fingers roughly into his scalp He was frustrated, and didn't know why.

He knew why.

He was angry with himself, this was not happening. Not to him.

He closed his eyes and it became worse. Behind his eyelids, in his own mind, the private theatre of his fantasy, his own show.

_"John was looking up, his face so relaxed and serene, mirth in his eyes, an amused twist on his lips. And strong yet gentle hands cupping his face. Stroking his cheekbones with infinite care. Masculine and delicate._

_John smiling, his happiness so obvious, so blinding._

_Gabriel's face going down, with the same happy smile, a slight brush of his lips against John's. A slight chuckle, between their breaths. Small and teasing kisses. Always laced with joy, with tenderness, with quiet laughter.  
_

_And then Gabriel growled._

_"Hold on a second" he said against John's mouth, his hands descended gently on the shorter man's shoulders, and he made themselves turn around, slouched slightly, his back against the wall, opening his legs wide enough to settle John in the V created, flush against him._

_But finally face to face. At the same level._

_John laughed and kissed him._

_"Better?_

_"Much better. For me or for your neck?" asked Gabriel with a frown._

_"Perfect like this", said John between kisses._

_It was so hot to see them like that, kissing, laughing. So at ease with each other._

_And then John had clenched his hands tightly in Gabe'sshirt. On his hips. And the kiss had become more serious. Hesitant at first, and then, with a whimper, Gabrie had surrended, and left the lead to John. To his passion, and their tongues had danced together. Lestrade slid his hands along John's back, settling at the small of his back. Stroking gently. So lightly._

_Watson pulled slowly at the white shirt and touched the skin beneath, eliciting a soft moan from the older man. Gabriel broke the kiss and pressed his face into John's neck, the light stroke was so delicious for both of them. _

_"You're all right?", asked John softly._

_"Yes...Yes..."_

_Finally, the DI slid his hands under the jumper, searching for the skin under layers of clothing and finding it._

_This time, it was John's turn to moan, his breath caught between his teeth, their bodies pressed together. Their cocks so hard under their trousers. Separated only by their clothes. But strangely without any rush, without that unstoppable sense of emergency which leads to regrets later. _

_They wanted each other, but not like that. Not here in this place, against this wall, not their first time. And their restraint was unbelievably hot._

Sherlock opened his eyes suddenly, surprised to find himself lying on the sofa, with a massive hard on. He knew his body and was very aware that he was only seconds away from coming. He closed his eyes again and very carefully touched himself, stroking once, twice, before coming so hard. His back arching against the cushions, so tense. Their name on his lips, his semen over his hand.

He slouched down, out of breath, and stayed like that for a few minutes, trying to regain control of himself.

Feelings.

He hated this word. But here, eyes still closed, a slight blush on his cheeks, feelings were there.

Pleasure laced with shame at having fantasised about those two men.

Jealousy at imagining them together.

Pain feeling sidelined.

Rage against himself for feeling vulnerable suddenly.

He tried to gather his thoughts and went into the bathroom, he took a shower, tried make it strictly hygienic, no unexpected caress, no thoughts drifting to John and Gabriel.

The problem with being a genius is, you have to persuade yourself sometimes, and being brought back to the present by icy water which confirms, that you have spent more time than necessary in the shower, because hot water lasts only about twenty minutes. It's frustrating.

And shame was back again. Sherlock felt uncomfortable with what he had done (well almost an hour before, at this rate.) He dressed and settled back on the sofa. Brain useless for the first time in his life. Unable to work.

A twinge of conscience made him take a look at his mobile phone, and he noticed with amazement five missed calls and a text.

All of them from DI Lestrade.

The text had come in an hour and half ago, calls ranged from eight this morning (when he was checking John's laptop) up to twenty minutes ago.( Icy cold end of his shower thank you.)

Sherlock opened the text:

_From : GL_

_Please call me back. About yesterday. _

_Gabriel_

Sherlock checked his watch again, almost eleven. Ten to eleven exactly.

Four hours he had been going round in circles. And now, those calls from Lestrade.

"About yesterday"

Nothing happened yesterday. Sherlock was in denial. The rage which flared suddenly was maybe salutary. Finally. He could have an outlet for his bloody anger.

And Gabriel would be the unfortunate one in the line of fire.

After all. Everything was his fault anyway.

Sherlock dialed the Inspector's number angrily, the call was answered immediately and the relieved voice of Lestrade triggered the storm.

"Sherlock, finally!"

"What Lestrade! What do you want from me? You stalked me? That's it? Five calls and a text? Who do you think you are?" snarled Sherlock. "A stupid kiss means nothing. It meant nothing yesterday either. I'm certainly not your boyfriend and you are not certainly mine. Stop those calls. What are you? A bloody thirteen-year-old girl? Have some dignity for God's sake!"

Sherlock' voice was cold and hard. Wicked. He was hurt and was trying to hurt Gabriel as deeply as he could. He was unfair, but where was the fairness in war? And this was war.

Lestrade was speechless. He received the blow directly in the gut. In the heart.

He couldn't find any witty retort, anything useful, not a single word to dissipate the misunderstanding.

Just a mere second before Sherlock hung up, his mind provided a few sentences. The only ones able to stop Sherlock in his deadly pace.

"Murder. Another one. Same MO as yesterday. Thought you might be interested", said the DI in a blank voice, before hanging up abruptly.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock's shout was sent into thin air.

It was the first time in five years. First time Gabriel had hung up on him.

The young man called back. No answers.

None to his ten frantic calls, he changed his strategy and sent texts.

_# 1 Stop being childish and answer your phone._

_SH_

_# 2 Call me_

_SH_

_# 3 You need me. Call me._

_SH_

_#4 I can help you_

_SH_

_#5 Let me help you_

_SH_

Lestrade sent an address to the last one.

_#5_

_125 Kensington road. Have fun._

Sherlock had his coat on already and was in the street in a minute, hailing a cab, and drowning in his thoughts, pushing the whole "Experiment 2753" to the back of his mind for the time being.

Time to focus on greater things.

Strangely the crime scene was quieter than usual. Only the forensic van and a single car were parked in front of number 125. None of the frantic usual traffic. No policemen, except the one behind the yellow tape.

Sherlock stood in front of him.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade is waiting for me", he said to the unimpressed young man..

Someone spoke to him from behind. A known voice. Not well known, but a recognisable one.

"He said you have five minutes on the scene. But he is not waiting for you."

"He is not here?

"Told you so. Left, half an hour ago. Come on, I'll show you the place," said Dimmock with a tiny smile.

"Five minutes. Not long,"snorted Sherlock with a bigger smile, _but it would be enough. It was always enough for him._

Dimmock showed him the crime scene, a small place at the back of the building. Dimmock observed the change in Sherlock's attitude, his gaze sharpening, his face hardening, a hunter on a track.

With a snort the young detective left Sherlock alone, according to Lestrade's orders.

Sherlock observed the small confined place, he took his micro-magnifying glass and began to turn around the corpse, spotting tiny traces here and there.

Dimmock came back five minutes later.

When Sherlock opened his mouth, the young inspector shook his head and raised a hand:

"No, no, no... I'm not the DI's secretary, and I'm certainly not yours. So. He invited you here. Now, you go and see him, or call him, or send him a fucking telegram or buy him flowers I don't care, but I don't want to know what you found, I'm not even on this bloody case!" said Dimmock vehemently.

Sherlock furrowed his brows and shook his head slightly. He gave a fleeting smile at the "flowers" part but it didn't reach his eyes.

"No. I need other information. More data. Could you help?"

"If I can, go ahead."

"Time of the discovery of the corpse?"

"Around six this morning, a young lad coming back from a club, knowing the place, came in to... relieve himself, and found it. Called the police, by the time someone came and reported to the Yard, around seven thirty, the DI had left instructions after the case yesterday, they called him and he was here at eight or so with his team", explained Dimmock slowly.

_"And he called me at once..." _Sherlock winced at the thought. He was so wrong. Lestrade had called him mere minutes after his arrival on the crime scene. And had persevered because of the lack of answer, and because the case was important. He had waited for him. A long time.

It was the first time in the five years of their association that Sherlock had failed him. Quite spectacularly.

"Donovan and Anderson were ballistic, Lestrade had forbidden anyone to touch the body before your arrival. Finally when there was no news of you he caved in and they did their job. He sent them back at the office and stayed here to wait a bit more."

Dimmock's voice was very quiet, but when Sherlock looked at him he realised the young man was positively angry.

"And?"

"He called me to replace him here. When I arrived, he was on the phone with you. I've never see him so utterly enraged, he almost pulverised his phone when he hung up. Ordered me to wait for you and fled. And I'm not even on the case", said Dimmock again. "So call him. After all, you're the only one the DI trusts with his career. And you're also the only one who could jeopardise it. Aren't you?"

"Jeopardise?"

"Sally was very, very, very angry. Anderson too. And don't forget, their loyalty is toward him, eventually toward the victims. But they absolutely despise you. So..."

"They won't do anything to me or to Lestrade", said Sherlock coldly.

"Oh, no, no. You misunderstand me. If the Chief sacks Lestrade, Sally will kill you. And Anderson will help her to hide the body. I might join in, though."

Holmes had lost a bit of colour, but the vehemence in the voice of the officer was worse than a punch.

"All right then, you have finished here? Have a good day Mister Holmes," said Dimmock. Turning his back on Sherlock, he climbed in the car and drove off, followed by the forensics van.

It was five to twelve.

His little fantasy this morning had cost Gabriel four precious hours. And a summons to the Chief's office.

Sherlock called him anyway, he had to do his job.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking...", said a female voice at the other end of the phone.

"Sally...", snorted Sherlock, "sorry to disillusion you, but you're the wrong gender ,and not smart enough to be the good inspector. Put him on the phone."

"Hey freak... He is not available. Even for you. Try to guess why, and stop fucking with me, and give me your pearls of wisdom. We've waited long enough...", retorted Sally coldly.

"Pearls of wisdom? Coming from you that's rich..."

"Freak...", growled the young woman. "I'm not in the mood. Now!"

"All right Sergeant. Man, in his thirties. Tall. Six feet four, I'd say. Thinner than the other killer, traces didn't have the same indentation in the neck. Same modus operandi."

"Copycat?"

"No. Too much the same MO for a copycat. There are probably two of them. Master and student I'd say."

"Ok Freak, consider yourself added to the list of suspects. With your sweet doctor. He is shorter and bulkier than you. That fits the profile," said Sally icily.

"Tell Lestrade to call me."

"Goodbye Freak."

Sherlock managed to hang up a second before her, just for the sake of doing it.

* * *

He felt guilty.

Guilty for wasting those four hours.

Guilty for snapping at Gabriel just because he was jealous.

Guilty for taking his pleasure earlier.

He shook his head sliding his hands in his hair and pulled the dark curls sharply;

He was muttering madly under his breath.

"Stop. Stop. STOP... Think. Think... Stop your nonsense and think Sherlock! Try to think. Try to do your job. You invented the job. Try to find those murderers.

_"And after that, go and find Gabriel and apologise like you never have before."_

_

* * *

_

_Hugs_

_San  
_


	5. Mycroft

**Experiment 2753 5/**?

**Disclaimer:** The original characters are not mine. Neither are the BBC's versions of them. Thank you Mr Gatiss and Mr. Moffat.

**Rating: PG**

**Character :** Mycroft

**Warning/ Spoiler :** no warning, spoiler for TGG if you still don't have seen it.

Betaed by** Blooms84** thanks hun.

* * *

**_Mycroft_**

Mycroft furrowed his brows slightly, a small grin on his lips. He was worrying constantly about Sherlock. More and more with each day that passed.

The CCTV footage from the video camera aimed at 125 Kensington Road (well, almost fixed on 125, in fact) had not provided much information. No suspects in the likely hours of the crime. Between two and three in the morning, according to the Yard's forensic examiner.

Mycroft had personally watched all the footage. From the south side of the street and the north too. Both crossroads. Everything. And nothing. Not a clue.

There had been a bit of traffic; the street hadn't remained empty all night long. Not at all. A group of a dozen students came around 1:30 a.m. It was the most interesting thing of the night. A dozen in front of number 20. And still a dozen after number 125. Not a single isolated person. Not a suspect. Nothing.

Mycroft sighed and passed his hand over his face slowly. He had other things to do. More important than finding a murderer. Even to help his baby brother. No. Even to help Gabriel Lestrade.

The Detective Inspector had been very patient with Sherlock. And there he had waited for hours. And had left the crime scene very angry.

The footage, had no sound, but even in black and white, Mycroft could see the tight lip line of Lestrade, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He looked exhausted. But there was also anger-anger and disappointment. Holmes was certain. Lestrade was disappointed.

Suddenly he was gone, his panda car sped away. Mycroft had seen on the footage from the camera focused on the Yard that the twenty minute journey had not calmed the Inspector. His face was still closed off when he had climbed out of the car. He had disappeared into the building, beyond the oversight of Mycroft. And because it concerned Lestrade, there was a big chance that Sherlock was involved. Especially after his baby brother's appearance on the crime scene less than thirty minutes after Lestrade's departure.

But after their five years' association, Mycroft had found Sherlock's late arrival rather curious. He had no current case. He wasn't bored to the point of succumbing to the call of drugs, as he had done sometimes, or seeking weird experiences. There was nothing that could have delayed him so much.

As a matter of conscience, and before going back to state affairs far more serious, Mycroft had asked one of his minions to give him the footage taken around the crime scene from the day before.

A simple crime: a corpse abandoned in a wasteland. Lots of waste and not a lot of land. It was more a patch of earth along one road.

The CCTV scanning had showed the corpse suddenly, between two and two thirty in the morning. No suspect, as usual. Nobody had stepped into the camera's view. Mycroft had later seen the discovery of the corpse, the police arrival, then the Yard.

Then Lestrade.

Then Sherlock.

He had seen the two men run away and turn into a shabby alley. Seven minutes later, Lestrade came back. Alone. With a weird face.

He came back to his team and supervised the end of the process. But at one point, for a few seconds he had had a very odd look. Absentmindedly, he briefly touched his lips.

Everyone left one hour later. Sherlock didn't came back.

Anthéa knocked lightly on the door, reminding Mycroft his lunch break had ended and there was a Balkan crisis to attend to.

Frustrated, Mycroft shut down the CCTV connexion and dove into very secret files.

**MMMM**

It was almost midnight when Mycroft came back home. He had checked the house as usual, and the children were asleep. He kissed them goodnight carefully to avoid waking them up, but one of the twins opened an eye briefly and with a pleased sigh greeted his father.

"Goodnight, daddy," he said in a sleepy voice.

"Goodnight, baby," answered Mycroft with a smile, "Sleep well, Little Love, sleep well."

He went out, and then glanced in his own room. Cassie was asleep too.

He smiled and began to undress: his jacket, the matching waistcoat, the white shirt. He put on a grey tee shirt, the pyjama bottoms and a grey hoodie over his tee shirt. At the last second he slipped his feet in thick socks. And went to his small office. He had a lot of things to do, even at this ungodly hour.

First of all, the CCTV footage concerning the two crime scenes. Nothing remotely interesting there. Mycroft used the same gesture as his brother and ran his fingers roughly through his sparse hair. He watched carefully all the archive footage, and there had been nothing on it. The closest roads were empty.

With a frustrated sigh he had switched to the archives of the cameras in front of Lestrade's flat—the building rather, not exactly the flat.

He had seen the DI's arrival. Lights had been turned on. And then the bluish light of the telly.

He had watched the file for a long time, without seeing it, really. A tall shadow had come around two o'clock, in the middle of the night, the day before. A shadow he had known all his life, as well as his own. A person he had promised himself he would look after.

A person whose well-being was almost as important as his own. Sherlock had gone to see Lestrade.

It was the first time he had been caught by Mycroft's CCTV cameras. The politician suspected there had been other times, but never had any proof.

Suddenly, Sherlock, who never did a thing without a good reason, had come to see Lestrade in the middle of the night and had been caught on the camera.

He didn't stayed long. Ten minutes at the most. He had waved at the camera when he left.

"Stupid git," Growled Mycroft, "what have you done at Lestrade's ? You didn't stay very long. Not long enough to discuss the case. Nor long enough to have done anything else. I know what your face looks like after you get off, and that clearly didn't happen. What are you hiding from me?"

"Mycroft?" asked a soft voice.

"Cassie? Honey. I'm done here, I'm coming," answered the man while turning his computer off.

**MMMM**

_Send CCTV footage concerning the two murders._

_SH_

Mycroft sighed, he just had finished copying the files on a memory stick. He put it in an envelope and gave it to Anthea to deliver to Sherlock. He hoped his brother would be able to discover what had happened. He probably knew already what he was searching for anyway.

He had connected his computer to the CCTV network and clicked on the camera situated in Baker Street, in front of Lestrade's, the one in the Yard's entrance, even the ones in front of the clinic.

He had watched the files from a few hours ago. Sherlock returned at four in the morning.

Lestrade departed from his flat at seven and arrived at the Yard around forty minutes later. He didn't seem as desperate as a few hours ago.

"Desperate... Yes, absolutely, Mycroft," muttered the politician. "I can't believed it."

Watson. The doctor departed from Baker Street at twenty past eight, and his arrived at the clinic at twenty to nine. Nothing noticeable with the doctor.

It was absolutely impossible to read anything on John Watson's face. Even in close quarters. He didn't limp anymore. His hand was steady. It had stopped shaking when he had begun to wander the streets with his brother. And he smiled only at his patients, Sarah, or the 221B Baker Street's inhabitants. Maybe he smiled to Lestrade too.

"And please don't start with Watson's smile. You don't miss it," muttered Mycroft again, shaking his head.

There was nothing. And yet, Mycroft sensed something was fishy there. He could not pinpoint it exactly, but there was something.

He shook his head, annoyed. It was the right time for him to dig in his own work again. And to try to be civil with all the foreign politicians he had to meet this day.

**MMMM**

When he came back in his office later this day, a white envelope was waiting for him on his desk and he lifted an eyebrow. He put the envelop distractedly in a drawer, that would be carefully locked. He rarely took the time to read those confidential files anyway, there was nothing more than what he had watched himself on the footage. The report in the envelope concerned level 5 surveillance on his brother, Watson, and Lestrade.

He was about to lock the drawer when he thought about the late visit Sherlock had paid to Lestrade two days ago and wondered if his team had seen it. He frowned and rummaged slightly between the envelopes and took the one dated the day before and the other, one day earlier. He opened them and read it quickly. The visit was mentioned. His team had worked well. With a slight smile he took the next envelope and read the file too. Exactly what he had seen himself.

Almost exactly.

The night before, the doctor had left the clinic at two past nine. But he didn't come back to Baker Street. He went to a club. A very posh and modern, one if Mycroft wasn't mixing things up. Private too. And Lestrade had come to meet him.

Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows a bit more. Lestrade and Watson?

The observer didn't say anything else. The men had two drinks. And they had departed one hour and half later. Went separate ways. Watson came back home by taxi at ten fifty-eight. Lestrade had arrived at his flat at eleven nineteen.

**MMMM**

Mycroft reassembled all the envelopes, organized them by date and counted them. Sixty seven envelops. Sixty seven files. A little bit more than two months of surveillance. More or less. Almost two and half months. He had set up the surveillance after the theft of the Chinese's artifacts. It was less than six months since his brother had met the Doctor Watson and that had changed everything. Two and a half months since Moriarty's attempt to kill Watson in lieu of Sherlock.

For a while Mycroft had suspected Watson to be Moriarty. The coincidence had been far too strange.

At the same time a friend and an enemy arrived in his brother's life. The friend, Mycroft had met at once. As he did every single time somebody crossed his brother's path.

Lestrade had his own visit long ago. And Watson had been the last one on his list.

Watson had gone mad, and had sent him away fiercely. Likewise Lestrade. He understood now, what both men had in common, a tough personality. And they had pierced Sherlock's protective shell. And to enter into the special world of his beloved brother you have to be tough, to be unimpressed by his brilliant mind, and his insurmountable ego.

You have to dare to say no. And tighten the screws on Sherlock. Lestrade had brilliantly achieved this when he had persuaded the young man to end his relationship with the cocaine. Blackmail. Pure and simple. Cases in exchange for the drug. Sherlock had accepted.

For the dear Doctor, it was a bit different. If Mycroft could rely on his team, and he had no doubt about them, the sweet and good Doctor had shot the serial killer from "A Study In Pink." Cold blooded. Clean shot. Sure hand. Nerves of steel. And he really liked to bicker with his brother. Calling him "Idiot or Prat" without any remorse.

Mycroft was pleased with himself. He had perfectly determined Watson's mercenary instinct, on their first meeting in the warehouse, the very first day Watson had accepted Sherlock's offer as a flatmate. And until this day, Mycroft was glad to have let Watson move into Baker Street. Not he had the choice otherwise.

But then this was no Balkan crisis, or China, or anything else like his normal work. There was something weird about this encounter between the two men.

He had to clear his mind. And so he would have to read all the sixty-seven reports.

He checked his calendar; he had an hour left and then a very important meeting. Or rather, very important meetings.

One hour. Sixty-seven reports. Less than a minute per report. Impossible to do. Even for him. But at least he could begin in chronological order.

The last two days were done. There remained sixty-five envelopes to open.

An hour later, Anthéa found her boss, surrounded by the reports, his usually tidy desk scattered with letters. A carefully trimmed eyebrow jumped toward her hairline, and she coughed discreetly.

"Sir?

"Mmm... Yeah..." Mycroft had lost his usual precise diction and calm demeanour, and Anthéa was curious.

"Your lunch break is almost over. You have an appointment in ten minutes."

"Anthéa?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Since when have Lestrade and Watson been seeing each other?"

Mycroft's assistant took her Blackberry and typed a few seconds on it.

"Thirteen days. Five rendezvous. Always the same club. Detective Inspector Lestrade is a member. Except for their first meeting. It was in Baker Street. Lestrade came there. Your Brother was absent. Nothing really interesting in those rendezvous."

"Nothing Interesting?"

"No sexual activity. No flirting. No rendezvous in hotels or at Lestrade's flat. Baker Street is off limits apparently. We could have had a few misses during their working hours. Nothing significant."

"You should have said something. About those rendezvous," growled Mycroft, while rising.

Anthéa looked at him under her lashes, over her telephone, and then back at it.

"I sent you a private memo when DI lestrade went to Baker Street," she told him quietly.

Mycroft took his coat and his umbrella, and left without another word.

She put her phone on Mycroft's desk and began to collect and rearrange the reports by date. From the most recent to the oldest. She put them back in the drawer and locked it.

Then she took her Blackberry back and checked her boss's schedule.

**MMMM**

The mundane tasks had been done with Mycroft's usual efficiency. He was a Holmes after all. His brilliant intellect, had done the job without a fault. One part was devoted to mundane affairs. A larger part was devoted to the extraordinary tasks he performed in his personal time, like those with the CIA, and the secret services, as Sherlock had said to the Doctor. He kept a few unoccupied brain cells for his personal use. Most of them were already on Sherlock's case anyway.

And then there was the little thing that had annoyed him, had been running in the background of his personal hard drive all day long. He was relieved to have a few moments alone in his office at the end of his day. It was not the same when he was home. The children were his priority. Immediately followed by Sherlock, of course. But here, in this office, Sherlock was his only concern.

Mycroft took his jacket off and sat down at his desk. He connected the main computer to the CCTV program again, and while waiting for the connection, he checked the private memos sent by Anthéa.

The few memos he had ignored. They had his brother's name in their subject, that's why he had ignored them. Usually, Anthéa gave him the verbal report first, then confirmed it by mail after that. Sometimes not. And obviously, it was one of those times.

_From: Mr Holmes's Assistant._

_Doctor Watson left the clinic at four- fifty. He did some shopping. More than usual: four bags from Tesco. And arrived at Baker Street at five- fifteen._

_At thirteen past eight Detective Inspector Lestrade arrived. He had a shopping bag from Oddbins probably a bottle of wine._ _Lights were on in the main room of the flat along with kitchen lights. No noticeable activity for three hours._

_Departure of DI Lestrade at eleven thirty two. _ _Nothing noticeable in his behaviour or in his physical aspect._

_End of surveillance after the return of DI Lestrade at his own flat. Seven minutes past midnight._

Obviously, nothing noticeable in his aspect, even if he had "a good time" with Watson, he had three hours to clean himself and to be decent. He is not stupid, thought Mycroft.

Sex was not a preponderant aspect of their relationship then. Not for the DI at least. He was too infatuated with Sherlock. Friendship then. And concerning Watson, nothing indicated he was not straight. Nothing.

Connections done, Mycroft searched in the footage of the last fifteen days. He had begun with the cameras set in front of Baker Street. Whatever had happened, it had begun before the first "rendezvous." Logically.

More than two days prior was not really an option. The two men knew each other well enough. But you don't change your demeanour radically without a good reason. And this invitation, in Sherlock's absence, was a new development in their interaction. Maybe Sherlock's absence was the reason. But there was a reason before this reason.

Baker Street's daily life was really, really boring. The activity in the street was dull. Mycroft enhanced the fast forward play and watched thirty six hours in less than five minutes. He saw Lestrade's arrival- he stayed an hour at most and had gone to Speedy's as he often did. What had never happened before though, was Watson's visit to Speedy's.

He look surprised, his phone in his hand when he closed the door of 221B, and he checked his phone again . A text probably. Had glanced at Speedy's, then had shrugged and gone inside. He had stayed with Lestrade for about twenty minutes. The DI's face was inscrutable when he left. More than usual. Jaw set. Shoulders squared.

He glanced at the lit windows of the flat, then walked away to the closest tube station.

John left ten minutes later. He looked lost. As if he had learned the world's end was now. More or less. He passed his hand over his face and raised his eyes to the windows too. Then he breathed deeply, hesitated a few seconds and opened the door of 221B and disappeared.

Mycroft sighed in frustration. Sometimes he wondered why he had not had his brother's flat bugged. Deontology. Yes. He could always try to persuade himself.

All right, whatever happened, it had happened a few days ago at least and a few weeks ago at most. Still at the same point then. Mycroft just hoped the reason before the reason was not before he had increased the surveillance on his brother.

He had decided to switch to a daily report on his brother almost two and a half months ago. He cringed at the thought that if the needed information occurred more than two and a half months ago, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. No way to find anything.

Mycroft disconnected the network, opened the drawer and took the reports, reading them carefully this time. Nothing significant for the most part. Nothing he hadn't already seen himself on the daily footage. He had eliminated about twenty reports and had finally reached the most interesting part of the surveillance. "The Great Game" As Moriarty and Sherlock had called this awful period.

Around forty days. It was only five and half weeks ago that people all over the country had suffered. Five and half weeks, when the psychopath had abducted innocent people and had tied them up to pounds of semtex. And had killed one of them. Along with her neighbours.

Those reports told Mycroft nothing. There was nothing concrete concerning Sherlock and Lestrade's relationship. Nor between Lestrade and Watson...

"Nor between Sherlock and Watson even," muttered Mycroft under his breath, "What are you doing brother mine? And what am I doing here? Dear brother, you still are a pain in my neck... and I am very polite tonight..."

He would have to check the footage again for about the right period. He just didn't want to do it. But he still had the nagging feeling of something wrong. And this had to stop. It was interfering with his concentration. And he should do it for those two nice chaps who shared Sherlock's life. He had to help them deal with his brother sometime.

He took all the reports and went back home, changed his clothes, and then went to his small office downstairs. He continued with Baker Street's footage, as he was already there... Day after day, the twenty-four hours were running on fast forward, Mycroft switched on the slow advance when he saw one of the three men. Nothing. There was nothing.

Here it was the day of the bombing. The swimming pool explosion had occurred a few minutes past midnight, maybe ten or fifteen minutes later. He remembered with a clear mind now, and a squeeze in the general vicinity of his heart, how he had reacted to the call Anthéa had forwarded-Marcus's call, the man on Sherlock duty that fateful evening. He had told him about the explosion that happened just a few minutes after Sherlock went into the building.

Contrary to what his brother believed, the first thought that had crossed Mycroft's mind was not the prospect of deceiving their mother. Mycroft's first reaction had been an empty hole in his chest. He just had lost his precious and brilliant baby brother. How would he live without him? Then Reason had spoken and had persuaded him that Sherlock could be alive, and he had called his team frantically, and they had dashed to the swimming pool.

They had been there when the firemen had cleaned the wreckage. When Sherlock, followed by Watson and Lestrade, had appeared triumphantly. Mycroft had a slight breakdown for a second. His brother was alive. White with plaster powder, but alive anyway.

Watson had collapsed on the floor and Lestrade had crouched down next to him, and the pair of them had talked for a while. Then Watson had shaken his head and risen to his feet .

Later, Lestrade had explained to Mycroft, that when he had arrived, he was in time to distract Moriarty, permitting Sherlock and John to escape safely. The sniper had fired on the semtex bomb. The building had collapsed, and Moriarty had disappeared. His sniper too. Colonel Sebastian Moran. Mycroft got that information from his minions later. Moriarty and Moran. A nice matched pair of crazy men.

Mycroft just had time to meet his brother's gaze before he drove away with Watson. In Lestrade's car. Baby Brother had nodded to him, and had forgotten about him in a second. As always.

Mycroft was watching the footage distractedly, Lestrade's car arrived in Baker Street. Lestrade had parked the car and then got out and had held the door open for John. Sherlock had come to help Watson as well. He had glanced at Lestrade before turning his eyes toward the doctor.

Mycroft stopped the footage and went a few seconds back. Why did his brother meet the DI's eyes? He played the movie very slowly. Almost image by image. And then saw the move.

"Oh, my God! Sherlock what did you do? What are you doing, Baby Brother? Please, tell me it's not what I think," muttered Mycroft between his teeth.

A still image on the screen.

Sherlock's hand on the top of Lestrade's on the car door.

"Don t tell me you decided to play clever games. Playing at seduction with the DI to make the flatmate you adored for month, jealous. It's not clever. It's stupid. Moreover, those two had made a pact behind your back, obviously. And John seems interested in your DI, so as soon as you have lost interest in him . . . you won't be able to have our sweet Doctor either. More important, what did you do to Lestrade yesterday to upset him? What did you do? Sherlock. . ."

Mycroft closed his eyes and thought intensely.

He remembered seeing Lestrade coming back to the crime scene, looking lost for a moment. Touching his lips briefly. An unconscious move of his fingers.

"A kiss . . . You kissed him! This is the stupidest move you have ever made, Sherlock. And naturally, in your tactful way, you latched on to Lestrade who was only waiting for you at a crime scene," Mycroft was talking to himself softly in the small office.

"All right, now, I know, it's only a private matter between you and your guys. You will have to deal with the mess you've made. Like an adult for once. And me, I'll be returning to my own job. Seriously."

With an amused smile, Mycroft turned off the CCTV network, and carefully destroyed the reports. He made a turn around the house as he always did when he was back home.

His last thought was for Watson and Lestrade. If those two had an affair, it would be a good lesson for his brother. When you try to manipulate people, you have to be a bit concerned about them. A minimal level of empathy. And Sherlock was hiding this part of himself so thoroughly, that maybe he wouldn't be right this time.

"I just hope on your behalf, that those two won't be angry with you to the point of leaving you," thought Mycroft. "You don't deserve them, maybe, with all your faults, but you don't deserve to be unhappy either. In my opinion, Brother Mine, you are a very lucky man, and those two love you far too much already.

_More than you deserves probably."_

**MMMM**

TBC


	6. Jonh and Gabriel

Experiment 2753 6/

**Disclaimer **: Those awesome characters are still not mine. But a thousand thanks to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, for having found those perfects actors to portray them.

**Rating: **Soft PG-13 due to a single kiss.

**Pairing:** As said in the title : John/Lestrade

* * *

**_John-Gabriel_**

John was worried, the meeting with Gabriel the evening before had been great as usual, but something wasn't right. Watson had the feeling that Lestrade didn't tell him everything. In fact he didn't tell him anything at all.

John remembered his own rage when he had sent the email, the very same morning. He was still furious about Sherlock's attitude. And he didn't know why he was so frustrated with his flatmate.

To be completely frank, he hadn't said anything to Lestrade as well. He kept his rage in his chest and had just enjoyed the evening with his friend. Enjoying his presence, the soothing effect Gabriel had on him. As he had enjoyed it a lot these last days.

Sometimes their two-hour meetings were spent in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts, enjoying the company, the mere fact of having a friend, even if neither wanted to be social.

Strange as that little ritual was, it had become so important.

Sherlock had made a biting remark once. When John came back from one of those quiet evenings, Sherlock had asked why John was so late and why he was spending his evenings in a club, a posh one at that, so out of John's league.

Watson had not even graced him with a reply. He just smiled and made some tea.

Sherlock never asked again. Never talked about it again. He just furrowed his brow disdainfully whenever John came back. Strangely, John was positively sure that Sherlock didn't try to dig more-didn't spy on them.

It was almost four in the afternoon, and the patients become scarce, so John asked Sarah if he could leave early. She was happy to oblige, because when John was not wandering the streets with Sherlock, he worked more hours than his due and never wrote the extras on the planning sheets.

* * *

An impulse made him take the Tube to go to the Yard. He was startled for a few minutes when he realised it was the first time he was going to the Yard by himself, not driven by one of Sherlock's cases, or summoned by the police.

He hesitated slightly in the hall of the building, but when he was greeted by the smile of the female officer in charge, he had no choice but to come in. He wondered if it was weird for a civilian to know almost all the officers working in the main hall of Scotland Yard? And to be able to find his way in most of the building itself?

He shook his head, amused, passed the security gate, and took the lift to the Crime division floor. Shook a few hands again, saluted another half dozen or so inspectors, policemen and policewomen before arriving in front of Lestrade's office.

John knocked lightly on the metallic frame and waited for Gabriel to raise his eyes from his work before coming in.

"John!" The DI greeted him with real pleasure, maybe with some relief. A visitor was always a good excuse to abandon his paperwork, and he hated paperwork.

"Gabriel how are you?" asked John, shaking hands with him.

"Fine, lots of work, but fine. And you?"

"Very good in fact, I've finished my duty at the clinic and I'm going home early for once, pretty good..."

Gabriel looked at him, tilting his head slightly, with a smile on his lips:

"And, Doctor Watson, since when, from that clinic of yours to the flat you live in, do you have to come to Scotland Yard? It's not really on the way, is it?"

John felt his cheeks flush a bit. Obviously, Scotland Yard was not on the way from the clinic to Baker Street, but the impulse to come to see Gabriel was so strong, it left him perplexed. A tiny bit perplexed.

He was beginning to realise he was enjoying Gabriel's company a bit too much. And this was the perfect opportunity to go right into a brick wall. Head first.

"I... In fact..."

Lestrade rose and walked in front of his desk, leaning on it slightly. He crossed his arms and waited patiently. He was really amused by now, and his eyes were sparkling with mirth.

"I left you speechless Doctor?"

"Noooooo..." John hesitated and slid his hand in his hair, chuckling nervously, "I was wondering, if we could grab something to eat, tonight?"

"Baker Street?"

"Hmmm, You don't happen to know a quiet place to eat, a small restaurant?"

Gabriel raised a brow.

"Your pasta...My place? What do you think?" He said quietly.

John met his eyes and nodded his approval slowly. In the world of stupid ideas, this one was among of the worst. The worst in fact. But John really wanted to spend quality time with Gabriel and being invited to his flat was somewhat exciting.

Gabriel was wondering if the proposal, even if it was really spontaneous, didn't come from a sudden urge to steal John from Sherlock, as a payback for the other day.

"All right, where are we meeting, and what time?" asked John, already doing a grocery list in his head for the ingredients he might need for his recipe.

"Right, take this, and wait for a second, I'll write you the details." said Gabriel, removing a key from his key holder, and turning to scribble a few lines on a piece of paper.

John took both of the items, read the paper carefully: tube line, station, way to the block and a code. He nodded again, nothing difficult, he would find his way.

"Do you have a grocery store or a supermarket near your place?" He asked raising his head.

"You have one on the way, but check the cupboard and the fridge first, Joy came yesterday or the day before, and there is plenty of food. Might save you the shopping." said Lestrade going back to his chair and missing the startled look on John's face.

_Joy? Who was this mysterious Joy? A girlfriend maybe. Maybe not. If Lestrade was so eager to fall in Sherlock's trap, probably no girlfriend around, _thought John when leaving his friend's office.

He crossed paths with Sally and didn't like her smile when she nodded to him, like she knew something. Obviously, John's only rational response was to blush slightly under the Sergeant's amused glance.

_Well done, Watson... What will she imagine now?_

John went back to the tube station, checked the lines, set his itinerary to go to Gabriel's and stepped on the arriving coach.

* * *

A good half hour later he was in front of the building, entered the security code Gabriel gave to him, climbed the stairs, and finally faced Lestrade's door.

When he opened the door, he was surprised by the tidiness. He didn't know what to expect. But with his own experience sharing a flat with Sherlock and the habit of living in semi-constant chaos, he tend to forget the basic and mundane habits of average humans, you could say.

John wasn't saying that Lestrade was the average human being. Not at all. He was a Detective Inspector after all, very smart (not in Sherlock's opinion, but Sherlock's opinion was a bit biased sometimes), hot in a certain way, if Sherlock's obsession with the sweet inspector had anything to say. And others found him attractive too- and this Joy... She certainly didn't come here _only_ to clean the flat. John could very clearly remember Sally checking out her boss sometimes. Her very hot boss.

"Very hot boss? Where this is come from? Am I nuts?" muttered the doctor, closing his eyes. "All right, time to be honest with yourself, John Watson, you find him rather hot, and your unnerving flatmate was probably right, you do fancy Gabriel."

The silence after his confession was welcome, and John shook his head slowly.

"And you talk to yourself... Pathetic."

John pushed his stupid ideas to the very back of his mind and looked for the kitchen first, after a rapid check in the cupboards and fridge, he was glad to confirm Gabriel was right, no need to do frantic shopping beforehand.

So, more time to visit the flat. Kitchen, done; bathroom, done; the first room on his left side, used as an office obviously. And then, Gabriel's bedroom. The bed frame was made of a light blond wood, a heavy navy blue comforter neatly pulled on the bed. Two white pillows. The room was like John's, meticulously organised, nothing out of place, but comfortable anyway.

There was a book on the furthest bedside table, and a telephone charging base on the nearest one.

John made his way around the bed and picked the book carefully: Stephen King and Peter Straub : _The Talisman._ He didn't know this book at all, and began to read the summary on the back, it was a strange story, fantasy world, mystic quest. Not something John would have imagined Lestrade reading. He put the book back in place, and came back in the sitting room.

There were books here too. Lot of books. A full book case. John brushed his fingers on the back of the books. The DI had eclectic tastes. Detective novels. A few. Very few in fact. Scientific books, on various subjects, medical, firearms, weather, astronomy, bugs... But the most important part of the bookshelves was occupied with Fantasy novels. John recognised some of them. The Lord of The Rings, the Hobbit, The Silmarillion, and other books by Stephen King, Dean Kontz, Peter Straub again. Lovecraft's entire works. The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum.

Lots of books John had heard of, but few he had the pleasure to read. Never enough time: medical studies first, then the war, Sherlock after that and now the clinic. Never enough time.

Maybe he could ask Gabriel to lend him a book or two; the DI would be more indulgent if there was a delay in returning than any of the official libraries.

John turned the telly on without thinking, and then began to occupy himself in the kitchen. The tomato sauce was bubbling quietly, and the pasta had to be cooked at the last minute, so John had enough time to do an appetiser too and finally to set the table in the living room.

The doctor was on the sofa, with a beer, and it was almost eight, Gabriel should arrive soon.

The DI sent him two texts earlier.

_From Gabriel_

_To John_

_#1 Don't hesitate to rummage through the kitchen if you need something. Make yourself at home._

_#2 There are beers in the fridge, help yourself. I'll finish around seven._

And in fact, John was very at ease in Gabriel's flat, and he was able to cook without wondering if the garlic container really had garlic inside, or open the fridge without having an heart attack when facing a severed head that had a peculiar look. He found all the things he needed to cook, without questioning if they were used with other purpose. A real pleasure.

No sarcastic flatmate, bored to the point of shooting the walls. It was so quiet.

John realised that even if life in Baker Street was completely bearable, a bit of calm within this particular storm was welcome.

He was stupidly engrossed in an even stupider evening show, when he heard the door open.

* * *

When Gabriel opened the door he was welcomed with the rich smell of the sauce and the sight of the table already set in the living-room, and he had a sort of short breakdown. He had longed to find the same thing every night. He closed the door carefully, buying a few seconds to regain his composure.

He missed that domesticity. Somebody waiting for you, somebody who had cooked for you, somebody who wanted to do something for you. Out of love, not by duty or habit.

His felt his heart squeezed for a second, when he thought about all those missing little pleasures. He was not missing Celia. On the contrary, he had savored having John at his place tonight. He realised that even if Sherlock was special to him, John was an important part of his life now. And Gabriel wanted him to be here. Like he was, waiting for him, sitting on the sofa with a beer and a smile on his lips.

Every night of Gabriel's life.

Gabriel though briefly how John would react if he kissed him. Like when you kiss the love of your life. He shook his head and took his coat off, hanging it in the closet before going in the living room, smiling.

"John? If, one day, you decide to drop your career as a doctor, let me know, and I'll hire you as my personal cook," said Gabriel, laughing.

John stood up slowly, laughing quietly too and took the compliment as Gabriel had mean it. As a proposal of sorts. He blushed slightly and slid his fingers through his hair.

"You don't even know if it 's edible. You should wait and taste before hiring me... " he answered with a chuckle.

"The smell itself is the promise of great delight...

"Dear Inspector, you know, you shouldn't draw any conclusions beforehand.

"I'm ready to bet it will be worth a try . Believe me..."

Both men stopped abruptly, their banter had, without them acknowledging it, crossed a line and become ambiguous. John went back in the kitchen, put the water to boil, and checked the sauce.

Gabriel followed him a few seconds later. "Could I help you?" asked the DI shyly.

John was relieved. So they won't have to talk about what happened. About this awkward moment between them.

"Yes. In the fridge, there is an appetizer; you could put it on the table, and we can begin if you want. The pasta will take about twenty minutes.

"All right, you want another beer? Or wine maybe?

John glanced at him. Gabriel was leaning against the door frame.

"Wine, if you don't mind."

"All right, I'll go to fetch one."

"You're going out? Don't, no, beer is fine..." said John hastily.

"No," Lestrade interrupted him, shaking his head. "I have my personal reserve here. You want to see it?"

John nodded and followed Gabriel into the small office. Obviously he had missed some things. One of them being the wine storage. With a rather good choice of bottles.

"Burgundy?" Suggested Gabriel after a while.

"Burgundy? You think so? With Pasta?" said John, baffled.

Gabe laughed softly.

"Yes, with pasta. The dish is not important you know, it's the company which matters. And I like this one anyway. You don't like it, maybe?" Asked Gabriel, frowning slightly.

"No. No. Yes, I mean, I like it, doesn't matter, it's just..." John stopped. "It's fine. If you want it, it's all fine..."

Again the silence added an innuendo to their conversation, and John wondered how they would be able to dine together without any misunderstanding.

Gabriel was thinking the same thing apparently, because he turned his back to John,and rummaged in the cellar to get the bottle, giving to John an opportunity to go back to the kitchen.

_"I've had it_..." whispered Lestrade, closing his eyes and leaning against the wine cellar. His forehead against the cool pane, he breathed slowly to regain his composure.

John stared at the warming water and was thinking almost the same thing.

_"I've had it... If Sherlock notices something, he will kill me. Just because I've ruined his experiment. I should leave now. It was a stupid idea anyway._

"No way."

John almost jumped at Lestrade's voice, but turned toward him, eyes wide open.

"What?"

"I said, no way are you leaving. I invited you, even if you cooked the dinner, so we eat together and we forget Sherlock for the evening," growled Gabriel, looking in a drawer to find the opener to open the bottle he had set on the counter.

"How..."

"You're so easy to read. I'm not him, but I can look and see, and I'm perfectly able to make some deductions on my own. I didn't join the police after having met Mister Holmes The Consultant Detective, you know.

"Sorry..." muttered John, staring again at the water, which still wasn't boiling.

"Sorry for what?" asked Gabriel softly, "Sorry you came? That's it?"

John took a deep breath and turned to face Lestrade, He searched his eyes and saw only the tensed line of his neck. And shoulders.

"No. I'm sorry to have talked about him. I'm pretty happy to be here in fact, and to Hell with Sherlock!" explained John slowly.

"Thank you." Gabriel turned toward John and held the blue gaze for a while, a smile pulled his lips, "I'm pretty happy you're here too."

John rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"We are stupid! We're like thirteen years old girls! Congrats!"

Gabriel laughed too, and like that, the tension flew away. All that remained were two friends about to share a nice meal.

The dinner was perfect. Gabriel had suggested the telly while eating, and it was a Doctor Who night, so they watched the episode and then after, they began to dissect the new series.

They agreed upon the fact that the new show was awesome, the plots were excellent and the actors just great.

John had caught up with the show those last few months, and he had watched with great pleasure all the four seasons of the new Doctors he missed because of his deployment in Afghanistan.

"You know, I had a soft spot for Eccleston," said Lestrade after they agreed that the 10th Doctor was the best of the three series.

"Eccleston? He was crazy." muttered John, chugging his glass.

"Yes... but he was good anyway. All right, David Tennant is THE Doctor, but I liked the other one too," insisted Gabriel pouring to John and himself some wine. And the Master... Simms is perfect in the role. He really looked like a psychopath."

"Sociopath..." John said with a smirk.

Gabriel had needed one second to process the implied joke.

"You're right, we could register him for auditions if someday the BBC decides to have another incarnation of the Master. He would fit the profile perfectly." he added, sipping his wine and laughing at the same time.

"And no way to have him meeting Captain Jack. Poor Jack would never recover from such an encounter," said John rolling his eyes.

"An asexual sociopath...I would love to see Jack being turned down by him."

"And Ianto would be vindictive, without any doubt."

"He would shoot him without warning rather. Our sweet Welsh is pretty touchy with his alien lover," finished Lestrade, rising to clear the table.

They occupied themselves for a few minutes, without a word. Then John began to make some tea.

"I'm not sure Ianto would kill him in fact," said John quietly, "he knows perfectly well that Jack always will come back to him, whatever happens with his partners in these love affairs."

Gabriel thought in silence about what John had just said.

"And Sherlock?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Sherlock?" John frowned, "Sherlock, he on the contrary, would be able to shoot Ianto without hesitation. And Jack. Even the Doctor, after having taken what he wanted from him."

The silence was slightly awkward again. Heavy with innuendo.

"Sherlock as the Master, maybe, I could agree. And Sherlock in real life? How would he be?" asked Lestrade softly, a hint of concern in his voice.

John turned to face Gabriel and decided to stop this charade of talking about something other than themselves.

"I don't know." said John slowly, "on the other and, I know that he wouldn't share nicely. He wouldn't share at all in fact. He wouldn't be as forgiving as Ianto is. Even for the greatest love. Even for an unconditional love. He would destroy rather than share."

" Still, would he need to know?"... began Gabriel, before breaking off by shaking his head.

"He always knows everything," confirmed John, a little bit sadly.

"It's terrible sometimes."

"Yes, I know.

Gabriel worried his lip, staring into space.

John had understood that Sherlock wouldn't share. He just didn't realise who Sherlock wouldn't share. He still believed that everything was about Gabriel, but it was about him. Holmes's real objective was to put John in his own bed. And it was Lestrade who was in a deep mess, because, now, he really wanted to keep the sweet Doctor for himself.

"Gabriel? Gabe... Where are you?"

The Inspector jumped slightly, pulled out of his thoughts by John's hand, waving in front of his face. He caught it, mid-air, and didn't released it.

"I'm here. Don't worry. I'm always here," he muttered, searching the blue eyes with his.

"I'm not worried," answered John without trying to get his hand back.

They were lost in each other's gaze. So close, and yet so far away.

John moved his fingers, entwining them with Gabriel's. He squeezed slightly the hand that was in his, and then let the hand go, Their fingers separating.

John stepped back, out of Gabriel's range. The DI closed his eyes. He was so confused. Too confused to think clearly.

"I...I'll go," said John finally.

Lestrade nodded his acceptance, and he heard John's footsteps. The soft noise of the fabric when he took his jacket and then put it on. The steps that went toward the door.

John's departure was heartbreaking. It was too much for Gabriel. It was like closing a door. Yet It was stupid. There was nothing between them. There would be nothing between them. Only Sherlock.

Sherlock with this stupid games. This experiment. This experiment, which would be their collective downfall. The three of them.

Gabriel opened his eyes when he felt a slight pressure on his cheek, a caress.

John's lips against his. A moment. A brief moment of stolen happiness.

The footsteps faded away this time. The door slammed but Gabriel didn't hear it.

An intense blue gaze met Gabriel's own.

_John's mouth against his..._

_

* * *

_

_tbc  
_


	7. John and Sherlock

**Disclaimer**: Those awesome characters are not mine, damn! Whatever you might recognise is not mine either.

**Pairing None. Characters John and Sherlock**

**Rating NC-17**

**Note from Author: **

**Per ACD we only have DI Lestrade name, and a single initial as a first name :G , SO all the door are open to interpretations. And Gregory is NOT canon... **

**Thank you for your kind attention... Lol.**

**Betaed by the sweet blue_eyed_1987. Thanks Hun  
**

**

* * *

**

**_John and Sherlock_  
**

John came home quietly, he had taken the tube toward Baker Street but had decided to walk from one or two station before his stop. He had wanted to walk home in order to think and he coolly examined all his options.

Both of them. Not too many to be frank. Only two.

First option was to give up, put what had happened tonight in a very far corner of his mind and forget everything. Second option was to forget Sherlock and his game, talk seriously with Lestrade and maybe try to see if they stood a chance together.

The problem with this option was the number of issues they could have.

First, Gabriel was aware of Sherlock flirting and was a willing participant in this disaster.

Second: Gabriel and him talked about it tonight. Sherlock wouldn't share nicely.

Third: Even with the kiss, John didn't know if the DI was really interested in an ex-military Doctor.

And fourth... Until these last few weeks, the man known as John Watson, had never intended to seduce - seriously he means - another male person.

He had experimented when he was young, very willingly in fact. Not after Medical School, it's true, but there had been several nights, complete with the flirting, and the certitude that nothing would follow. That the next morning, they would not even have a breakfast. Nor a lunch and even less, another night together.

He had enjoyed it, but finally had always finished on top. His lovers never asked him to bottom. He could have said yes, it hadn't mattered.

Later, in the army, he had witnessed the soldiers, the young recruits, less ashamed to share a friendly hand over a midnight wank. Without a face attached to the helping hand.

When they were too depressed or just a tad too drunk to let the barrier fall.

But nothing serious, nothing which couldn't be forgotten in the morning without guilt.

And more than twenty years after Uni, here he was. In an ambiguous situation. He had fell under Lestrade's gruff charm.

Gabriel Lestrade.

The sweet DI, who was more than in love with Sherlock Holmes, close friend, verging on best friend and flatmate of said Watson

Besides, when looking back a few hours, and the small kiss that Lestrade had accepted without a fight, he could, maybe, not be completely opposed to a friendly reunion between them.

John chuckled, pleased to have stolen the kiss anyway. Still slightly high from this kiss in fact. And maybe, he had a lucky star somewhere.

* * *

The windows in number 221B were dark, no light inside the flat apparently, meaning either Sherlock was thinking, alone in the dark, but he usually had a desk lamp on, or he out of the flat, running after something, somewhere on the streets.

The flat was empty, as John could see when entering the main room. He took his jacket off and went in the kitchen to make a cuppa. He was too excited to sleep anyway, so he turned the telly on.

He was sat on the sofa, not his usual spot, but he had wanted to put his feet on the low table and that had motivated his choice of furniture. He was distractedly watching a rerun of something situated in Africa.

He had his mobile in his hand, his thumb hovering above the send key. He had composed a text earlier and hesitated to send it.

_To : Gabriel_

_Thank you for this nice evening. __I__ enjoyed it a lot._

_See you soon._

_John_

John had hesitated because he was unsure of Gabriel's reaction.

He was no Sherlock, and he was completely in the dark here. Did Gabe resent John for what happened? Would he accept the offer?

And suddenly, the answer was very important for John. So important that the Doctor hesitated... Like a lovesick teen. Too afraid to do it. And even more afraid to not do it.

And it didn't matter that John was a Doctor and a soldier, that he had been in a war and was shot... but here, he was feeling unsteady and very vulnerable.

Finally he pressed the key, closing his eyes and holding his breath for a mere second.

He kept his fingers crossed and put his phone on the small low table, the farthest away he could without moving from his spot on the sofa. Only to avoid the temptation to check every minute or so if he did received an answer to his text.

The sound of the downstairs door pulled John out of his slumber. He checked his watch, it was almost midnight. John stretched his limbs while yawning.

Sherlock came in the living room in a twirl of his coat, divested himself of it and hung it on the back of the door, talking to John at the same time, a thousand word a minute as always.

"Hello John. You weren't home tonight. You dined outside," Sherlock sniffed the air and turned his head away. "Pasta and tomato sauce. Italian? A date I guess..."

"Yeah...A sort of date, I could say. More or less. Good evening Sherlock, do you want a tea? Have you eaten something? Do you want something? I'm pretty sure I can find something edible here." Said John standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

"No. And no. But a cup of tea would be nice. You know I..."

"Don't eat while on a case. I know, but you can't stop the Doctor in me worrying about your health." growled Watson, busying himself in making tea.

"And your date? You had a good evening?" Asked Sherlock, frowning his brows.

"Mmm..." grumbled John from the kitchen.

"Did you got your goodbye kiss in the end, at least?" Insisted the detective who was turning his laptop on.

"Yes. I stole it in fact. And I wasn't slapped in exchange." John explained, retrieving Sherlock's mug in the cupboard, and fetching milk to fix the tea exactly as his friend liked it.

"So? You will see her again?" Sherlock asked, lowering his voice.

John paused a mere second before nodding.

"Yes. I really hope to see him again." Said John in a quiet voice "I enjoyed this evening a lot and I wish he will give us a go."

"Him?" Repeated Sherlock, staring at his computer blankly.

"Him," confirmed John, sitting again in the sofa and picking his phone.

"I... I didn't know..." Said Sherlock slowly.

"I was bi? I thought you knew... At Angelo's the first night..." muttered John, hesitating to check his incoming texts.

"No. I wasn't certain about your complete heterosexuality, but your denial convinced me." declared Sherlock in a very low voice.

John raised his eyes and glanced at Sherlock who sat very still on his favourite chair. Straight as justice himself.

And misunderstood his behaviour completely.. He thought he had deceived him. And sighed internally. How could Sherlock be so intelligent and swimming in troubled water himself, and yet being so intransigent?

He pressed the "incoming text" key, a message was waiting.

He opened it, his heart fluttering.

_fr: Gabriel Lestrade_

_Thank you for this nice diner. You do know, Doctor Watson, that you are playing a dangerous game?_

John grinned when he read the text and quickly typed an answer.

_fr: John_

_Danger is not a problem. As you know. Are you game?_

The answer arrived a second later:

_fr; Gabriel Lestrade_

_I'm very interested in playing. But you have to know several rules beforehand. We have to talk first. Tomorrow night, The Club?_

This time, John's cheek blushed to a faint shade of pink, and he sighed quietly.

_Fr: John_

_All right. Tomorrow night, the usual hour?_

_XOXO_

John felt bold and added the two kisses at the last second. He didn't want to write it, but the symbols were sufficient to say what he had wanted to say.

He wanted to kiss him. Again. Better than the small peck they shared.

The last text, made him blush fiercely.

_fr: Gabriel Lestrade_

_All right._

_XOXO_

_GL_

Sherlock didn't avert his gaze and was looking at him discreetly the whole time, John had received and sent texts. Different emotions passing over his expressive face as he reads the texts.

Sherlock was beyond enraged - how had he managed to have John being swept of under his nose... It was impossible. And yet, he had a date with another bloke this evening, and seemed unfazed that Sherlock knew. It wasn't Lestrade. Sherlock was pretty certain about that. Lestrade and John had shared a few drinks lately, but they were friends , that's all, and Gabriel wouldn't do that to Sherlock.

And Sherlock had the dreadful certainty he would have had his chance if he had spoke with John honestly, instead of playing ridiculous and complicated games.

Sherlock didn't sigh, yet admitted that if he had spoken with John, he might have got a quicker answer, but in this case, he wouldn't have this "thing" with Gabriel.

And this stupid " thing" was growing out of proportion. Now, when Sherlock was closing his eyes, it was Gabriel's face who was popping into his mind first. With his trademark smirk. With this boyish grin which make him twenty years younger.

But now, in this mere instant, him, the "great" Sherlock was lost. He was confused by John and his small smile. A happy smile.

"Some news from your "date" I can tell."

"Yeah," said John, feeling a bit guilty anyway.

"So?"

"We will meet tomorrow night to discuss some things before engaging in a relationship." Explained John softly.

Sherlock didn't glanced at him but snorted derisively:

"He is probably married and will try to persuade you to engage in a relationship with him, arguing he is about to get a divorce, and for now you would have to be discreet..."

"Obviously, how could I think I could meet a nice bloke? Someone trustworthy. Someone who's not like you?" Growled John rising from the sofa.

Sherlock stayed silent. John's voice was anything but friendly and Sherlock understood he had, again, crossed an invisible line.

But either way, it hurt a lot to see the people you're in love with, being seduced by someone else.

Even if you are a high functional sociopath, your heart ( and yes, you have a heart) has its own reason. The reason the mind doesn't have, and it's hard.

Holmes focused on his laptop, he plugged the memory stick and download the files given to him by Mycroft.

He began to watch the file, in fact he still had a job to do, two murderers to catch and apologies to give to Lestrade. The apologies part made him cringe a bit, but he had promised to himself.

John had seen Sherlock watch the video with great intensity, and came by the desk. Just because they shared the same interest in Gabriel, it didn't mean that John couldn't help him anymore with the cases.

"Could I help you? Asked John quietly, looming over Sherlock's shoulder to have a proper view of the screen.

"Take this and plug it in the TV, we will have a better view than on the computer anyway, and after, if we need to, we will run both files at the same time, on the screen and the laptop."

"Right."

John did as he was asked and plugged the memory stick on the side of the flatscreen, selected the first file and ran it.

"The first video is on, coming? "

Sherlock came near the Tv and they watched the file in silence. The first crime. The corpse on a rough patch of grass, suddenly. Appearing from nowhere.

There were very few people walking on the background.

Nothing very interesting, Sherlock and Lestrade had already concluded that the victim had been waiting out of the range of the CCTV camera and probably had an appointment with his murderers, there wasn't another explanation. And the killers had been fast and very audacious. And very clever to play with the cameras.

Then they saw the police arrive, then much later, Lestrade and Sherlock. The video ends abruptly a few seconds later.

John selected the second file and they watched it with the same attention.

Kensington road, they recognised the victim walking past the cameras, then the traffic for a few minutes. Several couples, the group of students, a few isolated people. Couples again.

That road was a bit more animated then the area of the first murder. And then a little bit more delicate to handle.

The video ended also abruptly.

John furrow his brows and scratched slightly the back of his neck.

"Nothing," growled Sherlock pulling his hair sharply as usual when he was enraged. "There is nothing in those bloody videos, I wonder why we are paying taxes if it's to have such an improper CCTV system?"

"Sherlock, you don't even pay taxes..." Stated John with a slight smirk, "Could you run the second file on the Tv while the first is running on your laptop?" He asked hesitantly, "there is something... I can't say what, but something is weird..."

"Did you saw anything?" Asked Sherlock, squinting his eyes, "I didn't see anything noticeable."

"Sherlock, please, indulge me." Insisted John sitting in front of the laptop.

"All right then... go on, surprise me."

"You're stupid. You always say even the insignificant details are important, so, here, something is weird. I don't know..."

"What?" Growled Sherlock, more and more frustrated, seeing nothing.

The two men watched the videos at the same time, several times, a lot of times in fact. Nearly ten times, and both men were about to give up, when John straightened suddenly.

"Sherlock,here. Look there... This couple on the first video and that one on the other one..."

"Yes and what? They have nothing in common John. First couple, tall woman, around, 5ft 8in, long and blond hair, mid tight coat, dress or skirt, high heeled boots, shouldered purse, the man is over 6 ft, short haired, classic parka, leather boots, jeans too. On the other vid, the couple is very different, the woman is taller,maybe 5.9 dark haired, wool beret, short coat, backpack, jeans and flat boots. Man is shorter than her, very short haircut, but not shaved, tweed cap, hunting coat, with leather pieces on the neck and elbows, velvet trousers, loafers."

John nodded, but insisted.

"I know. But I can't help myself, they are weird. Those two couples, I don't know, but I can't... Look at them, their attitude, the way they are walking. This man, with is arm on his girl, and there, the other one... There... God, I don't even know..."

Sherlock glanced at his friend and watched the videos again. Carefully. And after a while he had to accept his friend's conclusion. He was right. Both couples were curious. The four of them were almost interchangeable. Weirdly interchangeable.

Sherlock took his phone and push the speed dial number 3. He glanced at John while waiting for Mycroft to answer.

"What do you want?" Asked the older of the Holmes without bothering to greet his brother.

"One of your technicians, and the CCTV footage. John has noticed something weird and we should verify." Sherlock said abruptly.

"When?"

"Now."

"A car will be there shortly."

"I'll be down in a minute."

Sherlock hung up, jumped from his chair, disconnected the memory stick, and glanced at John again.

"Are you coming?"

The doctor shook his head.

"No, I have work tomorrow and I have to wake up in... five hours," he sighed, looking at his watch, "you know your suspects, you don't need me, you will be able to work alone, like a grown up..." John finished, yawning.

"See you tomorrow then..." Said Sherlock taking his coat from the door and going down the stairs in a flash.

John could heard the noise of en engine, he looked out of the the window and recognised one of Mycroft' s cars. Sherlock closed the door and the car pulled out into the traffic.

* * *

The noiseless flat was un-welcoming for a few seconds then John shrugged his shoulders. He cleaned up the cups and the kitchen, turned the light off and climbed the stair to his room,his mobile phone carefully tucked in his pocket.

He had readied himself for the night, had sat on his bed, had checked and had read Gabriel's texts a last time. And then, deleted them with regret. He knew Sherlock enough to know he was able to come in his room and take his phone for a case, and then stumble on the texts. No way in hell.

And now, as the situation was still not resolved between them, he didn't want Sherlock to know anything.

John had gone into bed, and stared at the ceiling for a long time, the evening playing again and again in his mind. He remembered Gabriel's happy smile, the mirth in his eyes.

The friendly argument over Doctor Who, the slightly awkward confession later, about Gabriel's crush on Eccleston.

John thought about it. He had nothing in common with Eccleston - neither the size, the actor was well above 6 feet tall - or hair colour, not the body shape either.

John wondered if the Inspector had a certain type of guy in mind. In which case of course, Sherlock was probably closer to the type in question. Tall, thin, pale, black haired...

Four out of four.

And for John, not so tall, bulkier, tanned and light haired.

Zero out of four.

"All right, then Doctor Watson," muttered John to himself, "don't forget that Gabriel didn't seems adverse to further the question with you. So, be brave and don't begin already defeated in advance."

John ran his fingers over his lips, trying to find the gentle kiss he had stolen from Lestrade. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the sweetness of Gabriel's mouth. On the sensation that his stubble had caused under his fingers tips.

The shiver of pleasure.

Watson closed his eyes again, and unconsciously put his hand on his belly, his palm flat over his diaphragm, he felt his breath raise his hand, and it was very sensual and slightly erotic suddenly. The blood flood slowly but surely toward the south.

The doctor in him analysed the reaction of his body, the blood flow, the temperature rise, which triggered the production of a few beads of sweat, the acceleration of his heart.

With a growl, John had let his hand go down and stop a second on the drawstring of his trousers, his fingers played with it for while. He wanted to caress himself.

Gabriel as a background picture under his eyelids. The brown eyes and the teenaged smile at time, and the innocent charm of Yarder, who had seduced John.

With a defeated sigh, John gave up and slid his hand in his pajamas. His fingers brushed the head of his cock, collecting a few drops of precum.

He moaned softly and opened his eyes, surprised by his reaction. His heart raced a bit more, his right hand grabbed the pillow under his head.

His breath became ragged as the rhythm of his stroke increased. He turned his head and bit his pillow when he felt his orgasm coming, muffling the name about to pass his lips.

He felt the warmth spreading over his cheeks, his chest, in the pit of his stomach.

In the hollow of his back.

He wanted... He needed...

He finished turning around and buried his head in his pillow growling while he came, pushing his hips forcefully in the mattress.

He missed someone. Somebody with him, a firm body against his. Strong arms which could hold him when he flew away and die in a flash of warmth and light. Someone who could keep him alive on the ground.

This absence took his breath away.

Gabriel.

_Tomorrow night he would know._

_

* * *

_

_TBC  
_


	8. Sherlock  John  Gabriel and Mycroft

**Disclaimer**: I plead guilty, I've borrowed those wonderful characters, and I play with them unabashedly, I will return them unharmed. I swear.

**Rating**: PG -13 for two pecks

**Pairing** none really.

**AN:** Thanks for Blue_eyed1987 for the beta job. I owe her a lot. And sorry for the long delay, RL is tricky now.

Hugs for all

* * *

_**Sherlock - Gabriel - John - Mycroft **_

The car sent by Mycroft leads Sherlock in one of the warehouses; Mycroft's "favourite" office for his "private" matters. Big brother had made it big, and provided three technicians, many computers, and all the technical resources they might need to trace a couple of criminals

Even with the suspects already identified and only having to follow them from camera to camera, it was far from simple, and it took them several hours to track them properly.

Strangely the couple hadn't seemed worried, and had never changed their pace, Sherlock lost them on the tube, but with the footage from the second crime scene,Sherlock and the tech tied in the tube line and narrowed their research to fewer stations and they were able to find them in the south of London.

They were stunned to be able to follow them almost till their doorstep.

Lestrade's research would be limited to a few streets . One of the technician has taken pictures from the video footage and had cleaned them in order to have good photofit to give the police.

Sherlock had hacked Scotland Yard's network again and sent the pictures and the area the suspect could be found to Gabriel. The tracking information was copied onto a memory stick by Mycroft's tech. The CCTV access was heavily protected and it was impossible to leave an open link, even for the Yard, and downloading was long and boring.

Sherlock hesitated for a mere second. The chase was over, the end of the investigation was up to Lestrade and his team, they only had their job to do and everything would be over in a few hours. So, it was time for Sherlock to apologise to Lestrade as he had promised to himself.

And even if the promise didn't involve anyone but him, he intended to keep his word.

But in this particular case, his fabulous intelligence didn't help him at knew how to fake when he investigated, how to play concerned to gather information from witnesses. But how to be honest with another human being, moreover, another human being he was interested in... Sexually speaking?

Sherlock shook his head, to say he was only interested in Lestrade for sex was so not true. A slight understatement.  
So he was interested in him romantically? The thought itself made him cringe.  
But if you nil the sex for the sex, and the one night stand, there remained very few options.

While he was having his personal doubt crisis, Mycroft's techs had cleaned up the warehouse and removed the equipment. They were waiting in the black van. Waiting for Sherlock to climb in his assigned car and leave.

The trip back to Baker Street took a long time, they were stuck in the morning rush hour, and more than once Sherlock toyed with the idea of stepping out of the car and abandoning both the car and driver. But finally, he changed his mind when he realised that the ride was free and comfy and it was raining cats and dogs.

John was long gone when Sherlock arrived. He took the opportunity to rummage through John's laptop again. No luck this time, the blog was still not updated, and the mailbox had been cleaned, all the files carefully deleted, inbox and outbox.

Sherlock had nothing else to do than try to find an acceptable way to apologise to Gabriel, without further humiliation or making a fool of himself. Therefore he made a raid on the internet, trying to find solutions. Flowers language was tempting, but he didn't see himself buying flowers for the DI...

Inviting him to dine had a major inconvenience as he would have to eat too and he hadn't any appetite left after the last few days.  
His dilemma hadn't the time to bother him for long because his phone rang, signaling he had just received a text.

_Fr: Lestrade_

_Nice pic, and pleasant address. Do you have the beginning of a theory, so I can bother those people?_

_GL_

Sherlock winced, he was aware his explanation had been short, but he had left some explanations and with the video, he should be able to... Sherlock stared at the memory stick he had been playing with since he left the warehouse.

Obviously, without the videos, his message was not very clear. Gabriel somewhere was intelligent, not very smart on Sherlock's standard, but he was not completely stupid anyway.

He had a certain ethic and if he was ready to obey almost any suggestion or order given by Sherlock. From time to time, he asked first.  
And here, obviously, he wanted the explanations beforehand.

Sherlock pocketed the memory stick and ran down the stairs, the door slammed after him. He waved a cab and asked to be driven to Scotland Yard, he still has the remaining time to think again.

Action was the ultimate solution, but snogging Lestrade in front of his team was not a brilliant idea anyway.  
He still had to do something, but what?  
Sherlock was still frustrated when he arrived at Scotland Yard and he sighed as he got out of the entered the building and went upstairs to the criminal section directly, as usual he didn't bother to salute the officers and people he met.

He stopped at the entrance of Lestrade's office, and watched him for a few seconds, waiting for a confirmation and received it..

His stomach squeezed for a second and his heart stuttered briefly  
Ok then, Gabriel's sight still had an effect on him.

The Detective Inspector raised his eyes from his file and met his gaze, unconsciously he smiled before remembering he was still angry with his consulting detective and frowned, brow creasing..

Sherlock had an instant blood reaction. Blood rushed to opposite sides of him. His cheeks for one, and down, in his penis for two.

Gabriel rose an eyebrow when he noted the blushing and instinctively his eyes went down on the tailored trousers, tented by the instant hard on. He meets the grey eyes. Then he had a smirk and didn't shift his gaze from Sherlock's.

"Problem Sherlock?" Gabriel asked in a gravely voice.

The low growl was the only answer he got and Holmes came inside the room, breaking the lock of their eyes. He rummaged in his coat pocket and found the memory stick, he closed the two sides of the coat, to hide his slight problem and held the stick to Gabriel. The Inspector turned his hand, palm up and waited for Sherlock to put the small object there.

Their gaze locked again and Sherlock saw his chance. He put the stick in the Lestrade's outstretched hand and let his fingers linger in a shy caress.  
Gabriel let him do it but slanted his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"No. Not now. And not here." Hissed Gabriel.

Sherlock stepped back, nodding his approval, his cheeks a bit paler than a second before.

"Oh... Well...Then... See you later, then." Muttered Sherlock, turning on his heels and going out in a flash.

He still was in the building when his phone vibrated with another text

_Fr: Lestrade_

_Eight tonight, my Club. You will find which one it is without a problem, if not, ask your brother. We need to have a little chat, you and me._

He hadn't even signed the text.  
The " we need to have a little chat" wasn't very encouraging. And try to find the Club where John and Gabriel used to meet wasn't on his favourite "to do" list.

And eight would be in approximatively... Nine hours. Sherlock growled and sent a text to Mycroft, if Gabriel said Mycroft knew, avoiding the legwork was the sensible thing to do.

_Fr: Mycroft_

_Lestrade's Club is 'The One" Drury Lane 3. Closest station: Covent Garden. You should economise and avoid the cab._

All right, that task was done, he would have to spend the next few hours wondering about what Lestrade wanted from him.  
And sulk on the sofa.

* * *

Gabriel immersed himself in the videos graciously provided by the Holmes family.

Sally by his side, focused intently on the screen - she disliked the Freak, as she called Sherlock, - but she was impressed by his tremendous work. Usually, from almost nothing, the traces he was able to follow, had led their team to satisfying conclusions.

Here however, he had managed to determine that the two couples were one and that was, to say the least, unconventional, that bordered on genius and Donovan agreed inside: Sherlock was indispensable to them.

Lestrade glanced toward his colleague from time to time, and was satisfied when he saw her, amazed by Sherlock's work. But she would rather die than admit it to him.

"So, those four people are only two in fact... "She said slowly.  
"And those two people are two men. Yes." Confirmed Lestrade.  
"A couple?"  
"Not from Sherlock's point of view, brothers, friends, master and student... All these are options to explore."  
"And the murders? Why these victims?"  
"They're..." Gabriel sighed and rubbed his eyes shaking his head, "it's the worst case you could imagine. At first sight, they are circumstantial victims."  
"What?" Hissed Sally, turning to face him. "You mean they are random victims? No pattern, nothing?"  
"That's it. These freaks jumped on the occasion. They were hunting probably, but without any precise idea. And probably, their first victim came to them. Coincidence. They had nothing planed. No modus operandi, nothing in common, except the death."  
"Strangled."  
"Exactly. Premeditated ,because we have found talcum traces on the vic."  
"Latex gloves."  
"Yes."

Sergeant Donovan stayed silent a few seconds.

"And if we succeed to catch the freaks, you do really think we will be able to link them to those crimes?"  
"Frankly? I don't know Sally, We will probably have to call Sherlock again."

She snorted and shook her head.

"I hate him. But without him, we would never had thought about those guys. Serial killers without pattern, it's impossible to track them down. You do remember..."  
"The cab? The killer Cabbie? Yeah, we were lucky to have Sherlock," said Gabriel quietly.  
"And he was lucky to have the doctor." Stated the young woman without emotion.

"Can I start the search in the borough, Inspector?"  
"Go on Donovan, find them for me."

She stepped out the office and closed the door carefully. The Inspector leant back in his chair, stared at the ceiling and sighed. The enquiry was almost done. Not closed, far from it, they would have to find solid evidence against the men, to link them to the crime. And Gabriel was a bit worried about that.

But thanks to Sherlock and John, the case had jumped in the right direction quite rapidly.

Sherlock and John. John and Sherlock.  
Gabriel wondered a moment if he would succeed in something with those men.  
One of them maybe. None of them maybe too.

It was almost six when Donovan called him, the search in the block with the photofit had been stupidly easy.

The first suspect was spotted right on when the team had set foot in the neighbourhood. A young constable had recognised him from the pic she had. He was arrested and less than twenty minutes later his accomplice was arrested in his house.

Both men were driven to the Yard and interrogated by Sally and Lestrade.  
They were the worst of the pitiful killers even seen, murderers by occasion if you can say so.

* * *

It was seven and half when Gabe arrive at the Club, he was welcomed by the Maitre d' and requested a private room for the evening, told him he had a guest who was supposed to arrive in about twenty five minutes and asked to be fetched upon his arrival to sign for his entrance.

John arrived as usual, at a quarter to eight. He left his jacket with the waiter and went to the main room to meet Gabriel.

"Good evening Inspector, he said, while sitting in his customary chair.  
"John..." Lestrade welcomed him, holding a drink for him.

When John took the glass, they brushed their fingers a second more than necessary.

Ok, so maybe the evening wouldn't be a total wreck even with Sherlock's pessimistic previsions and John relaxed a bit. He was not nervous. But he was under an intense stress and as Mycroft had understood, he was calm, very very calm.  
But he had questions.  
He had thought about it all day long, and reached the conclusion that even if Gabriel had decided to stop here what was happening between them, he will accept it.

It would be hard, probably difficult too. But he was very fond of Lestrade and didn't want to lose him, even as a friend. If they are still friends after that.  
Gabriel stared at him and shook his head, smiling.

"Whatever scenario you thought about, John, please, don't doubt me." He said quietly.

The Doctor nodded, his throat squeezed tight. All right. It will be worst than he even though then.  
Their usual waiter came and spoke softly in Gabriel's ear. The inspector stood up and went to John, put a hand on his shoulder and met his gaze.

"Follow Julian, I'll be back in a minute. Don't worry." Gabriel says in a low voice.  
"Oh... All right. See you soon then..."

Lestrade waited for John and Julian to disappear before going to sign for his guest. He persuaded him to undress and leave his precious coat in the cloakroom, and to follow him into the club.

They were crossing the main room when Gabe stopped suddenly, he came to a young solitary man who was reading a news paper, a teapot next to him on the table suggesting he was or very sober or working.

"I suggest you leave now." Said Lestrade in a low voice, "You will say to Mister Holmes that our meeting tonight is private. We won't be in the main room, we will go in one of the private saloons,so it's not necessary to wait for us. And when I say private, I mean very private in fact. No cameras and no recording. Thank you for your help. Your tea is on me."

Marcus rose a brow, but said nothing, he realised that Sherlock was very amused if the slight smirk on his lips was an indicator. He folded his paper and stood up slowly. He nodded to them briefly and took the way out.

"One of my brother's minions?"  
"Yes. We will be alone now. Come on." Said Gabriel.

Lestrade went to a quiet hallway and opened a door, he stepped out to let Sherlock walk inside, but the young man swiveled towards him, frowning his.

"I'm not a …"  
"Shut up and go in." Said Lestrade interrupting him, mid-sentence.

John widened his eyes when Sherlock entered the room, mutual shared surprise, if Sherlock's look was anything but.

"What..." Began Sherlock again.  
"Shut the fuck up." Growled Gabriel forcefully, locking the door behind him. "Sit down. John, I'm sorry. All right, be quiet, the both of you, and let me talk."

Sherlock took place in the armchair furthest from Gabriel, closer to John He was glum, furrowed brows and pinched face. He hated it when he didn't know everything, and more than that he hated when asked to remain silent.

The room was not very large, it was a bit more like a cupboard than a room really, one of those small rooms with enough place to hold the two armchairs and the small sofa, separated from each other by a small low table. Cosy in a certain way. John was at ease, he still trusted Lestrade, and the inspector wouldn't harm him.

He was pretty sure of that.  
More or less.

Gabriel paced the room quietly, but preferred to remained standing, taking hold of the back of the sofa, his knuckles turned white on the dark wood, and he took a deep breath. What he has to say was not easy and will be painful for sure, but was necessary for the relationship they already had.

"All right. So, those last few weeks, I've experienced something strange, very pleasant indeed but a bit disconcerting too." Said Lestrade slowly, "I'm in a slightly unsettling situation. In almost three years, the only relationship I had was with my job. And no, Sherlock, one night stands from time to time, are not what I call a relationship." Gabriel insisted, glancing sharply at the young man who had opened his mouth."So then, as I said, I am the centre of the attention of two people I hold in great esteem and for whom I have dubious feelings. I think, at this point in our relationship, we need a bit of truth between us."

The silence which followed this declaration was uncomfortable. John wondered if Gabriel would speak of the evening before, probably. And for a moment he feared Sherlock's reaction.  
He was certain he wouldn't appreciate knowing his friend and flatmate currently shared his taste in men. Really shared...

He glanced at Sherlock and saw him ensconced in the chair, his chin put down on his stapled fingers. He was very tense. His pupils were more dilated than usual, the grey ring of the iris was almost invisible in this light. The high cheekbones were slightly coloured.

Gabriel nodded again and sighed.

"John. You have to know, I won't turn back on our friendship and I'm very fond of you. But... There is a slight detail you have to know." Said the DI in a gravely voice, "this game Sherlock has been playing for week now, you know? Touching me, trying to drive me mad? Seduce me in a certain way? Everything is for your benefit only."

Sherlock growled, shutting his eyes. John, on the contrary, leant forward, his forearms on his knees, blue eyes searching the brown ones.

"What do you mean exactly?"  
"That Sherlock was trying to make you jealous by flirting with me. That he is completely head over heels in love with you." Gabriel explained, releasing the back of the sofa. And that is your right to know. For everything else... For what had happened between us, I have no regrets. I just want everything to be clear, and if there is a choice to be made, you know all the parameters."  
"And you? With him?"  
"Him is here, thank you John." Growled Sherlock from his place,still mortified that Gabriel had told John everything.  
"You are a master in hiding like an ostrich, so continue to hide and let the adults talk. Thanks." Snarled John with an icy voice.

Lestrade grinned slightly.

"I don't even know where I stand in this game. Until these last few days, the game we played, our dear Sociopath and me, suits me. But..."  
"But?" Asked John softly.  
"But. There is a "but" between us... I am not fifteen anymore and don't like to be shot down for misplaced culpability." Explained Gabriel, holding Sherlock gaze. "The work is the work. I've done everything I could all these years for you. Because I gave you a job. Sort of. And I certainly didn't deserved what you did to me two days ago. You let me down. You were so late, that I will receive an official warning from the Chief." Growled Lestrade, furious. "And I don't know if I still want to play your silly little games. I've been offered another proposal, which interests me a lot."

Sherlock sat up straight. Breathless, cheek still coloured.  
Gabriel lifted his hand, cutting him short again.

"It happened exactly the same thing between John and me, than between you and me, Sherlock. So no need to be insufferable."

Gabriel walked by the sofa toward the two men and stood still for a second.

"You might want to discuss things between the two of you. But before I leave, I have to take something you stole from me back." He said with a mocking smile.

He leant toward Sherlock and planted a quick kiss on his lips, then he took the two steps toward John and slid a hand in the short sandy hair, pulling slightly John's head to him, and kissing him slowly.  
He meet the blue gaze and shook his head softly. In the silence which followed, Gabriel took a step back and turned swiftly. He buttoned up his jacket and left the room without another glance.

He closed the door and slid a shaking hand into his hair. He didn't know if he had done the right thing.  
He left them the choice to rip his heart into shreds and to turn their backs on him. It was very painful.  
He picked up his coat from the cloakroom and stepped out the Club, glancing at the sky. The stars suggested better weather for the following day. Gabe sighed and took a step toward the tube station.

A sleek black car followed him for a few seconds, then stopped at his side and the back window rolled down. Mycroft's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Could I offer you a lift, Detective Inspector?"

Gabriel leant slightly and put a hand on the roof of the car .

"Tell me, Mister Holmes..."  
"Mycroft, please."  
"Mycroft... Please, tell me Mycroft, do I have to worry about a third tentative lover? Because a third man, after an emotional desert for more than three years, is a bit too much. Especially with a second Holmes. I think I won't recover. Ever." Said Lestrade with a smile.

Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head.

"No. I swear. Please, get in the car Inspector. My car is comfortable, less expensive than a cab and will avoid the stress of the tube." Insisted Mycroft, opening the door.

Gabriel capitulated and admitted that the elder of the Holmes had a point, or two, and a ride in a luxury car was not a bad way to end his evening.

He took place in a deep leather seat and gave a satisfied sigh. He glanced to his host and rose an eyebrow.

"I assure you Inspector..."  
"Gabriel." Said Lestrade, interrupting Mycroft.  
"Gabriel, I assure you I am not interested. I am happily married, father of three and faithful to a fault. Anyway, if I had shared my brother's tastes in sex, you, probably would have been my type of men."

Gabriel laughed heartily.

"I don't know if I should be flattered or worried?" He said between peal of laugher.  
"Flattered. I assure you." Stated Mycroft very seriously, but his gaze full of mirth reassured Gabe.  
"All right, then, Mis... Mycroft... Please tell me what you have to tell. Is it the infamous "talk"? The: " do Sherlock any harm and you will disappear?"" Lestrade asked after having sobered up a bit.

He examined his kidnapper; Mycroft was relaxed, and was returning the favour, examining the inspector carefully, his head resting on his fist, his elbow resting on the holder inside the door.

"Anyway, for your brother, I think I won't do him any harm . You can hold your talk for the Doctor." Whispered Gabriel.  
"I might surprise you Gabriel, but I don't give a damn about my baby brother's love life or ... else, you do understand me." Began Mycroft slowly, "Anyway, I truly think you've made the right choice and you'll be surprised with the result."

Gabriel tilted his head slightly, a question in his eyes.

"I don't know obviously, and as you've said to Marcus, your meeting tonight was private. No camera and no recording," added Holmes without a hitch, "Sherlock's safety is very important to me, that's why all the people around him are under surveillance. I apologise but it won't change anytime soon."  
"I understand."  
"So, I am here for you Gabriel. To tell to you that the official warning your chief had promised to you had been wiped of his report and won't be written on your file." Mycroft explained, without turning his gaze away from Gabriel's.  
"I have to thank you for all the cases you asked my brother to work on, during the past five years. And for what you still are doing for him now. I took the liberty of filling these papers, it's an official accreditation request,so you won't need to justify your choice to ask a civilian for help."

Mycroft took a thin file from a leather holder and gave it to a very surprised Lestrade. The DI read rapidly the papers, it was an official request and it was filled in his name, the papers missed only his signature, and oddly Gabriel thought Mycroft could have forged that if he had wanted.

"Without a doubt, Inspector, but I would prefer it if you signed it yourself." Said the politician with a smile.  
"Why are you doing that?"  
"As I've told you, I want to thank you. And to avoid any trouble."  
"Thanks?" Said Gabriel in an uncertain voice.  
"You're welcome."

Gabriel signed the papers and gave them back to Mycroft.

The car had stopped and the inspector realised they were in front of his flat. He opened the car and hesitated before getting out, he turned his head toward the other man.

"Don't worry Gabriel. They will make the right decision. You trust them don't you"

Lestrade nodded and shut the door. He watched the car speeding away.

"Trust them? I would trust them with my life, without any hesitation," whispered Gabriel shaking his head.

_"That's precisely what you just did, you moron..."_

* * *

_TBC_


	9. John and Sherlock then Gabriel

**Disclaimer**: I'm sadly very aware that those awesome characters are not mine, neither are their adventures. So I play with them and I will give them back without a scratch.

**Rating: PG**

Pairing : None yet, but Lestrade/Watson endgame

Betaed by my sweet Gemma. Thanks Honey.

* * *

**_John-Sherlock_**

The door of the room closed slowly.

Gabriel's departure left a distinct void in the saloon.

John growled softly, put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

Sherlock had almost melted into the armchair, he did the sensible thing, like John, and kept his eyes locked firmly on the door.

He didn't have it in him to meet John's stare now. Not yet. He was still ashamed by Lestrade's words.

"So you kissed him? John asked without turning his head.

For once, Sherlock didn't point out the obvious. He just answered in a very low voice.

"You too obviously."

"A single peck."

"It was last night."

"Yeah. And you?"

"Two days ago, on a crime scene. In an alley. A peck too."

John shook his head slowly.

"Is there a slight chance that we could have a more awkward conversation than this, one day?" He asked genuinely .

"I doubt it."

The silence lasted for a few seconds and John sighed again.

"Sherlock, do me a favor and tell me that Gabriel was not serious. That he was lying?"

"Don't worry. Gabriel lied to us." Answered Sherlock in a blank tone.

"Really?"

"He never lies. Except for cases sometime."

"And it was supposed to be reassuring? When and how?"

Sherlock hesitated for a long time.

"When he said he was fond of you and was interested in another proposition than mine."

John stayed silent for moment too, and tried to melt into his armchair too.

"You are head over heels in love with me?"

"The most awkward conversation ever between us? It's this one. I confirm." Growled Sherlock, shutting his eyes. "And yes, I was head over heels in love with you."

John leaned forward a bit and turned his head toward his friend.

"You're not anymore?"

"Vexed?"

"Hmmm. No?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and met John's.

"You didn't find anything better to do than flirt with him to make me jealous? How old are you Sherlock? Ten? You do know, it was probably the worst idea you ever had in your life?"

"Not a probability. A certainty. "Muttered Sherlock, "it was stupid indeed."

"I agree You could have talked to me instead?" Said John shyly.

The growl coming from the chair next to him caught his attention. He moved in his seat, back on the armrest, and one leg under his thigh. He stared at Sherlock.

The young detective was still sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched in front of him, fingers crossed over his chest. Brows furrowed, a slight shade of pink on the high cheekbones. Dark curls in disarray.

John had to agree. Sherlock was a beautiful specimen of mankind. The only problem, for the time being, was that John didn't find him attractive. At all. There were nothing he could do, even with this surprising declaration of love. The man who made John shiver was Gabriel. And Gabriel only.

"Stop staring."

"Answer me."

Sherlock had a derisive pout and shook his head, eyes closed.

"Talk to you instead. Yes I can imagine that perfectly, and how I could have done that? One morning at breakfast? Between toast? "Hey John, I've come to a realisation, even if I had told you at Angelo's that I wasn't interested in sex, your presence has a certain effect on my libido, and I was wondering if we could maybe have sex together? I can picture you perfectly well, either you would have choked on your tea or you would have sprayed it across the table, on me, and then you would have fallen in my arms and we wouldn't be there now?"

John snorted, and laughed heartily, he tried to regain his composure so as to not offend his friend, but he failed when he saw Sherlock's grin.

"The picture you've planted in my brain will last for a while... I'm afraid..."

Sherlock opened his eyes to John and smiled softly.

"That's why I hate human emotions and everything else attached to it. Sex at the top of the list," he said with his so beautiful voice, so far away from the derisive tone he had employed earlier.

"You haven't the choice. You could think of yourself above us, mere humans, but you are a man, and there, I think your plan backfired quite spectacularly?"

"Shut up."

"Ohhhh, but I insist." Said John, blushing slightly. "Do you find me... attractive? Still, I mean... You... Mmm.. I...Hemm He... Well"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, hearing John stutter over his words.

"I. You. He, generally it's in this order. Yes anyway."

"Oh..."

"Even if, obviously, there is some kind of unexpected complications."

John seemed interested and his cheeks lost their extra colour.

"Explain."

"Lestrade."

"I doubt it was about Julian or Anderson." John threw with a derisive tone.

"Who's Julian?"

"The waiter. Stop eluding. Explain."

With a defeated sigh, Sherlock closed his eyes again, he felt more comfortable speaking about embarrassing things, like feelings, without seeing his opponent.

"When I began to flirt with Lestrade, it was to gauge your reactions. All this was a game. To hurt you a bit as you were so fond of him."

"Very adult thing to do, Mister Holmes, I'm impressed." Growled John.

"I know. I do know. It was stupid. The name of the game was "experiment 2753".

"Experiment what?"

"Two thousand seven hundred and fifty three. You named it. This evening when we fought over Lestrade, when you did realised what I was doing to him."

"So?"

"Nothing, I kept the name. To keep a distance. To avoid the feelings."

John was silent, Sherlock wasn't done, there were very far away from the peck.

"It didn't work. One day I saw Lestrade. Really saw him. Gabriel. A tired man, alone but resilient. He didn't fall for the temptation I offered to him. I saw it in his eyes and in his demeanor for years. He was there. Opened and exposed. I would just have to hold my hand and he would have said yes without an hesitation. But... Suddenly he was unattainable." Said Sherlock quietly.

"And that's why you were interested? Because he was resisting? Although you believed he would be at your feet?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I like challenges. And this one was interesting."

"Seduce Gabriel? You've said it was already possible for years. I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club John, I can't figure this out for myself. I just know that when I've opened my eyes, I've seen a different man than the one I knew. Through a thousand details of his life. Of his clothes, his shoes, his attitude. I've seen a troubled man. Who was losing his sleep and his appetite over a stupid thing."

"A stupid thing? You are the stupid git, don't forget that Sherlock." Stated John softly.

"Thank you for the reminder."

"You're welcome, that's why friends are for. But don't stop there, I want to know everything."

"There is nothing to add. On the crime scene the other day, he followed me in an alley and suddenly, I had this impulse. To kiss him. To keep him for myself. To hold him against me. To have him. I didn't want to share him. I forgot you. It was him and him alone."

"Thank you very much, you are not volatile at all, are you? Gladly I..."

"I'm not done yet," Sherlock interrupted him.

"Sorry."

"No. You're not." He stated with a smirk.

"Well, maybe not, indeed, but keep going, genius."

"I wonder why I'm telling you this? Except to humiliate myself, there isn't any real interest in this story for me?"

"Humility suits you perfectly. Don't give up."

Sherlock laughed, a genuine laugh. Him, who didn't laugh so often.

"John Watson, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I do love you, you know?"

"I know that already, but it's only because I'm the only one to scold you."

"Not the only one."

"Right, I forgot Gabriel and Mycroft."

"Could we count Lestrade only. And avoid talking about my brother tonight?"

"Sorry."

John was staring at Sherlock. He could see the tiny crack in the mask he was wearing. And this crack was John's fault, he was pretty sure about that. But he wasn't ready to give up. To give up Gabriel and to sacrifice himself for Sherlock's well-being.

"I wouldn't accept that, John." Said the detective slowly, opening his eyes, his gaze aimed at the door. "I wouldn't accept a relationship based on a such thing. I am, probably, not a good person, this based on serious known facts. But to accept this, that would be lowering myself to very deep levels."

"So, where are we, now?" Asked John quietly.

"Friends. Always. I hope." Answered Sherlock. "Flatmates. Still."

"And for the time being, rivals? Which of us will succeed in seducing our beloved Gabriel?" Concluded John in a blank voice.

"Maybe in fact. But I don't think the competition is really open between us."

"How that?" Asked John, tilting his head. "I know, you are ahead of me, but I'm n..."

"No." Sherlock interrupted John, shaking his head and searching his gaze.

"No?"

"No." Repeated Sherlock standing up. "I have to go home, I still have some experiments to look after."

"Oh?"

John stood up too and followed Sherlock to the entrance, they took back their coats and went in the street.

The place was quiet and they stood for a minute, outside, without a word.

"You want a cab?" Asked John finally, burying his hand in the pockets of his coat. The temperature had lowered and he began to get cold.

Sherlock shook his head, buttoned up his coat carefully and turned on his heels, darting toward the tube station.

"Have a pleasant evening John..." Said Sherlock, walking away.

Watson watch him leave and wondered why the victory was bitter suddenly.

Not that he was not interested in Lestrade, on the contrary.

But to win without a fight was less than honourable.

* * *

Gabriel was in the dark, sprawled on the sofa, in tee-shirt and trackpants, the blue light of the telly was a perfect night light.

He had showered to relax a bit after such a strenuous day, he had to admit to himself. Especially since the evening had had it's share of his emotions, too. So Gabriel had spent a good amount of time under the spray, thinking. He had reviewed the last few weeks and weighed the good and the bad of about every hypothetical relationship, examined with lucidity the qualities and the fault of each of his...

Suitor? The word had made him cringe and feel like a bloody nineteen century heroine.

Friends? They were dancing on the thin line bordering friendship from a while now.

Lovers? Not yet. A brief kiss didn't count.

He hadn't labeled them finally, and they had remained John and Sherlock even in his solitary thoughts.

Sherlock had more faults than qualities for him, his ferociously self-proclaimed sociopath part. His lack of respect for Gabriel, his work and the rest of the force who accepted him on their play-field. (By the way, thank you Mister Holmes for your accreditation request.)

His mannerism about order and papers which was close to chaos. And all that, was saved in extremis, by the qualities of those defaults.

His alarming way of always saying the absolute truth, his brilliant mind, which analysed any given situation in a few seconds and choose to react to it or not depending on his mood.

The perfect attention he directed to this particular job.

He was dangerous too. You could sense the feeling of danger when you met those amazing grey eyes. This man could be merciless.

On the other hand, this man was completely and utterly gorgeous. And if Gabriel would have to go on a path he never followed before, he should go with somebody he found physically attractive at least. Because, physical, they would have to be at a moment or another.

On the other hand there was John Watson and there, Gabriel was overwhelmed by the man's qualities. He had outstanding empathy, he was concerned by others more than strictly necessary, more than his duty, more than the mere reason. He was sweet and gentle and visibly caring. Painfully honest but without malice, respectful of everybody's feelings. With a sharp mind, but discreet, he didn't liked to be the centre of the attention, and preferred a place in the background. Dangerous too and this part made Gabriel shiver slightly. He remembered his poker face when he had shot the cabby.

An exceptional shot Sherlock had said, cold blooded. And high moral sense.

Physically, Sherlock's exact opposite, but very attractive nonetheless.

Gabriel felt lost, he wondered which of them would come to him tonight.

If one of them would come tonight at all.

He wondered if his plan had been a good idea or if it would explode in his face.

Nothing said that Sherlock hadn't gone back to Baker Street with John in tow and a plan to acquaint themselve with each other a bit more.

He wondered if his honesty and his desire for something simple and clean hadn't made him ruin f his chance for a normal relationship with someone he fancied.

A glance to his watch made him consider nobody would come. An hour and half.

He doubted really that the conversation between John and Sherlock had been so long.

That meant... His time was over.

Hard knocks on the door made him jump slightly.

His heart squeezed in his chest, he rose slowly against his own will, went to the door and unlocked it carefully.

It didn't matter who was there. He just hoped they weren't there to tell him everything was finished.

He opened the door and found a relaxed John, leaning on the wall in front of him, hands at his back, his eyes steady and certain, a little smile tugging his lips.

Gabriel leant again the threshold, crossed his arms on his chest and tilted his head on the side, trying to read John's attitude.

A few minutes passed in perfect silence.

"Evening..." Said Gabriel in a low voice.

"Evening." Answered John, straightening and coming closer.

"Want to come in?" Proposed the police officer, straightening too.

John's smile gave him flutters in his belly and he backed off to let him in.

When John came inside, Gabe took his hand slightly, John let his fingers slide between Gabriel's and pressed their hands together.

Their eyes met.

At least...

* * *

TBC


End file.
